


too tempting not to touch

by targaryenkaz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Sirens, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Grey Worm/Missandei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryenkaz/pseuds/targaryenkaz
Summary: Daenerys, a siren, is under the thumb of her cruel brother and King of the underwater kingdom of Valyria. After pushing back against him, he banishes her and curses her to be a human until she delivers the heart of infamous siren-killer and heir to the Northern Kingdom, Jon Snow.Jon Snow sails the seas getting vengeance by hunting sirens. Named King by his brother but lacking the respect of his lords due to being a bastard, he is torn between his wants and his duties. The only thing he is sure of is that he must rid the world of all sirens.Based off To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is a prologue so no jon & dany this chapter but we'll meet them next chapter

The water battered against the sides of the ship. It was not going to be a restful night, thought Robb, as he slumbered up to the deck. Lantern held aloft, he watched the crew running around trying to keep the ship on course, avoiding the rocks that skated treacherously nearby. They were not his crew, he was just a passenger on this ship, returning from a trip with his new wife. But he was a king now and he meant to act like it. Maybe the crew didn’t need him, but he’d be sure to make sure they had whatever it was they did need to get through this night.

A haunting sound slowly trickled through the air, like the wails of a maiden, proclaiming her love for you as she died, it was horrifying and haunting, melancholic and beguiling. Robb found himself walking to the edge of the ship. But if you asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you why. His hands came up to rest against the taffrail, blinking rain out of his eyes, he momentarily returned to himself. Shaking his head and retreating a few steps, Robb thought the beautiful song he had heard sounded more like a malevolent scream. This was no angelic choir. No, he knew what this was.

Robb started howling loudly, like he and Jon had done as children, imitating the wolves that represented their family. At any other time, he would have thought himself mad, but he needed to drown out the sirens voices as best he could, the less he could hear of them, the safer he would be. For now, anyway. He heard a few splashes from further down ship. Several men were flinging themselves overboard now. The captain amongst them, he noted. He could still feel the pull of the song, fighting it was so tiring. 

_Maybe I should just give in_, he thought. _It’s such a pretty song. The sirens will be even prettier._

_ _He started shaking his head, violently to rid himself of those thoughts, he screamed like a mad man until it was a dull ache instead of a raw torment. He needed to think, he was a king he reminded himself. This was not the first difficult situation he’d been in. He just needed to think._ _

_ _Robb could not save them all, whatever he wished. He needed to be smart. To make the call that would get most of the people aboard home. So, he focused on the man closest to him, one leg already dangling over the ship, hauling him back over. _ _

_ _He slapped the man, repeatedly until the dazed look started to falter. “Scream with me!” Robb yelled in the still slightly delirious man’s face. “Come on man, you have to drown them out.” Comprehending what was going, at least enough to help, the man started bellowing at the top of his lungs. Robb covering his hears and still howling like a mad wolf, made his way to the ship’s bells. There is only one known way to save yourself from a siren attack, drown them out until they get bored of you and return to whatever depths of oceanic hell they came from. He’d learned from tutors that before sirens hunted the humans a ship had only one bell, used to indicate time, fog coming up, or to mourn a sailor’s death. Now ships were equipped with bells all over the deck, and even some below deck in the sleeping quarters._ _

_ _The only problem was once a siren, or band of sirens, found your ship, they were unlikely to leave you alone for just one night. Robb has witnessed himself men coming in from port from a long voyage, bedraggled and vacant looking. An almost two month-long journey had turned into a nightmare when on only their eleventh night the beasts arrived for them. Every night after, the sirens returned. _ _

_ _“At some point, it seemed like they were toying with us,” one man had said, “they would come close enough for us to get them with the nets or harpoons. They’d swim right up, we’d take aim, and just before we’d get them they’d dive back under. They smiled at me and it almost seemed sincere but it was terrifying too...stunning and terrifying." He'd stopped, taking a moment to himself, recalling horrors Robb could only imagine.  
"One of them she had purple eyes," the man continued, "she came in the day, none of the rest did. She swam around, faster than I’ve ever seen one, bright red tail she had.” _ _

_ _Robb had heard of this siren before. Men from eastern kingdoms spoke of her almost reverently, despite their obvious fear. But it was not the purple-eyed siren who he dreamed of killing, he knew that was a male siren. He’d questioned every surviving man from his father’s last voyage. As far as Robb knew purple eyes did not exist amongst humans, and from the history he'd learned the purple-eyed sirens who had once ruled the seas had mostly died out. There were only two sirens he'd heard of who had them...perhaps the two were close, related even. Though he didn’t know if families worked the same amongst those who dwelled in the deep. Old tomes he and Jon had scoured as children had implied that siren family dynamics were not so different from humans, but Robb wasn’t so sure. They were monsters, he knew. His father had taught he and his siblings not to believe the stories, that man had done just as much damage to the beasts, as the beasts had done to man. But it was a siren who got him in the end, a male with silver hair and purple eyes. _ _

_ _“She’d pop up her head and almost analyse us, you know. Like she was deciding something. I wanted to shoot her but there was no point, she was too fast” the man had said, despairingly. The men of that ship had rung the bells constantly, day and night. They took short shifts sleeping but never more than a few hours at a time. The majority of the crew was on deck at all times, either steering the ship, ringing the bells or trying to catch the creatures who taunted them. They still lost half their crew and barely made it back alive. The sirens had only stopped following them three days prior to their return, when the seas became less isolated. More ships meant more weapons, and killing a siren was always something to brag about. In certain kingdoms, they made a point of capturing them, keeping them in small enclosed tanks but Robb didn’t see the point of that, kill them and be done with it, he thought. There was no point torturing something that couldn’t help its cruel nature. _ _

_ _Most of the men refused to ever step foot on a ship again. Captain Jon Connington returned to the seas a year past the event, however his mind was far from recovered. From the tales Robb had heard, one of the ship’s officers rang the bell to indicate they were coming up to a foggy area. Connington, lost in memories, flung himself overboard. No man was willing to jump in to save him, for all they knew Connington had been targeted specifically by a siren, as they were want to do, with a song they couldn’t hear over the winds.  
Another queer ability of theirs, if they didn’t want you to be enchanted you wouldn’t be. They could have a ship full of victims but sometimes they only wanted one or two. _ _

_ _The crew knew it was not a siren attack when only a few hours later they dragged his body in with the catch for the day. Jon Connington had simply lost his mind._ _

_ _Robb dragged he and the other men to the nearest bells, ringing them as hard as could. He needed to wake the other men up, he needed the people below to wake up and start ringing the closest bells to them. He was not going to die today, he repeated to himself, not today. His mind drifted to Talisa, but he could not think of her now, she was smart, he reminded himself, she would hear the bells and know what to do. A few more men started to come their senses, stopping in their tracks and slowly returning to themselves, before they too stumbled to the closest bell and rattled it. The cycle continued until the chiming of bells rang louder and the sirens song was only a distant hum. And then it was not there at all. Robb grinned to himself, rain pouring down his face and his auburn curls sticking to his forehead, he felt almost joyous. The monsters had come, and they’d lost. _ _

_ _They kept ringing the bells for five minutes, then ten. Robb did not want to risk their lives so he kept ringing, knowing the others would follow his lead. He could deal with an aching arm. Half an hour turned into an hour, the loud chimes turned into a soft tinkle when the siren song returned, and they all went back to rattling away. “Keep ringing those bells, boys,” he yelled to his crew, “let’s not give them another chance, eh?” The men laughed, almost madly, all of them exhausted. All of them still on deck had nearly walked to their doom, that was not something they could reckon with within an hour._ _

_ _It was then, amidst the delirious joy of those who had barely scraped themselves away from death’s clutches, that a baritone voice, deep and violating, joined in with the song. This was not like anything he’d heard, or even heard of. Without his consent, his arm stopped ringing the bell. _ _

_ _“No,” he gritted out, feeling the pull. “No, not like this.” _ _

_ _He felt a primal scream claw its way up his throat and burst out of him. His arm started moving again. The other men followed suit, a wave of screams burst across the deck. Robb could hear the same from below deck. _These fuckers don’t know who they’re messing with.__ _

_ _As he roared and rang, it escaped his attention that one of the men was making his way to the helm of the ship. The helmsman was surrounded by three men, rattling two bells each, right next to his head. A precaution that ensured the helmsman would be the least likely to succumb to a siren’s song. The man approaching was weedy, sickly-looking. More than likely suffering from scurvy. He walked slowly, calmly until he was behind one of the three men surrounding the helmsman. Too busy with ringing the bells, they never noticed him. The sickly, enchanted man slid his knife cleanly against the closest man’s throat. _ _

_ _He continued ringing the bells for a few seconds, confused as blood poured down onto his damp, knitted jumper. The second man freed one of his hands and swung on the sick man. He dodged easily, controlled by instincts that weren’t his own and stabbed the second man in the gut, over and over again. At this point the third man, started screaming for help and Robb took notice. He started off to help them, but it was too late. The sick man, his job done, turned and threw himself overboard. The song had reached the helmsman and he starting veering towards the rocks. The rocks the crew had worked tirelessly to avoid this past night on their voyage. The third man tried to steer them away, but it was in vain. The helmsman turned from his post and knocked the third man out with a single, hard punch. _ _

_ _Robb climbed the steps slowly and clung to the bannister as the ship was carried by the stormy current. Somewhere in his mind he knew the outcome of the night was now set in stone, the dreadful was now inevitable. But he had to try and do something, anything that may alter this course. The ship lurched, and he was thrown back across the deck. Men still clung to their posts, trying to drown out the voices growing nearer and nearer. The last thing Robb heard before the ship struck stone was the chorus of the crew’s cries. _ _

_ _Robb rose to the surface and took a deep breath. Most of the crew had been thrown from the ship in the collision. The ship that was now little more than a wreck. Debris surrounded him. His mind chanted Talisa’s name. If he could find her, maybe if he got them far away enough, they could climb onto a larger piece of wreckage and let the current carry them away. There were enough sailors for the sirens to get their fix, he and Talisa needn’t be part of their kill count, he was almost ashamed of the thought. But he had his priorities, and saving everyone could no longer be one of them._ _

_ _First he needed to find her, he took a deep breath and went back under. All he could see were the ghostly faces of men being dragged down to the deep. He spotted a glistening black tail dragging one of the younger boys away. He saw one of the merchant's and his entire family be taken by the monsters. Robb remembered the captain not wanting to admit the merchant and his family, not thinking it seemly for them to sail alongside a king. But Robb didn't care, the man could pay his way, why shouldn't he join them? How he regretted that now. He knew he could not save the children but it still left a hollow in his gut he knew he'd never recover from. If he survived at all. _ _

_ _No sign of Talisa, he made his way to the rocks. His whole body ached but still he swam as fast as he could. Lingering would only make him more of a target than he was. As he grew nearer, something clawed at his leg, pain coursing through him. Looking down, he saw a hand with nails as sharp as talons digging into his calf. The siren was young, with brown hair flowing behind her. She smiled at him, curious and cruel. She was toying with him and he knew she thought he was no threat. That’s the only reason he hadn’t been dragged down yet, the only reason she playfully tugged at his calf as if it was a game they were playing together. Grabbing the dagger from his belt, he swiped it across her face in one swift, vicious movement. Her hand released but he would not take any chances, he swiped again, and again. The siren let out an unearthly wail, blood clouding her vision. He took his opportunity and plunged the dagger into her heart. _ _

_ _Pulling the dagger out, he took off swimming for the rocks. He risked one look behind him, and saw her turning to sea-foam. He'd heard stories of what happened to sirens when they died but it truly was an inhuman sight. Reaching the surface, he gulped in breaths of air and pulled himself up onto the rocky surface. Rolling over to look at the starry sky, he nearly laughed to himself. He’d fought a siren and won, now there was a tale to brag about. But he still had to get him and his love out of there. _ _

_ _Several people had made their way there, some injured, some rocking themselves, either to keep themselves warm or of out of comfort, Robb didn’t know, nor did her care at this point, as callous as it seemed. He spotted Talisa’s brown hair only fifteen feet away, she was curled in on herself, still in her nightdress, shivering violently. Despite the ache in his arms, lungs, and calf he clawed his way towards her. “Talisa!” he called hoarsely. _ _

_ _Turning over slowly she saw him and gave him a weak smile, the smile he dreamed about. Reaching towards him, he clasped her hand, bringing it to his mouth. He opened his mouth to explain his risky, but only plan, when Talisa’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Robb grabbed tight to her hand, but she was easily ripped away him into the water. In shock, he didn’t hear the screams of the survivors surrounding him. _ _

_ _He barely felt it, when only seconds later, but a lifetime to him, he too was pulled under. Robb looked down, and saw his wife disappearing into the dark. He gave no resistance when the beast pulled him under. _ _

_ _When they were deep enough that little light reached them, the creature turned Robb, clutching his arms, so they were floating face-to-face. He knew instinctively that this was the siren with the deep, malicious voice that turned the tides in their fight. It was flat-nosed and dead-eyed, with nails sharp enough to flay him clean. He gave up trying to hold his breath, waiting for the end to come, not caring any more about fighting. But just before his vision started to blur, another siren swam into view. This one was another male. This one had purple eyes, silver hair and a cruel smirk on his face. Robb jolted, knowing exactly who this was. No, not like this, he once again thought to himself. But it was too late. _ _

_ _The last thing Robb Stark ever felt was his father’s murderer sinking his nails into his chest, right over his heart._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first fic, drag me
> 
> don't really i'm weak 
> 
> ramreads1 on twitter
> 
> also i gave myself ptsd with the amount of times i wrote 'bells' in this chapter.


	2. uncurling lifelines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the kingdoms are islands btw, i stole that from the book
> 
> quite a lot of info dumping but lets call it world building or something.

Daenerys rises out of the water, pulling herself up onto a small rocky surface. She was going to kill a lot of evil men tonight; she might as well make herself comfortable. 

As her gills stopped working, she took a deep breath of air. She liked almost nothing about the world above the water, but she did like how cold air felt in her lungs. 

Missandei pulls herself up to recline beside her. They sit in a comfortable silence as the ship draws nearer, illuminated only by the moonlight. When the sail is visible, a red huntsman on green, Daenerys takes her hand and squeezes. 

“With how we look, we might not even need our song to lure them,” Daenerys says slyly, getting the smile from her friend she was aiming for. With that they both slip into the water.

She had been away from home for over a month, exploring the seas with the family she had made. Missandei, Grey Worm, Irri and Qhono were the people she felt most herself with. Awfulness is a treasured thing amongst her kind, at least it has been throughout Viserys and her father’s rule. Friendship, loyalty were concepts as foreign to them as the land. But still, throughout all the pain and loneliness Daenerys had found kinship. These were her people.

They swam into ocean deeps that had never before been breached. They visited small communities of sirens, who hunted only fish and whose lives were so different from their own. Daenerys had no wish to change their ways of life, as long as those ways did not hurt the innocent. She only wished to ensure that they were protected, that the drama of her brother’s rule didn’t negatively affect them. 

She’d had fun meeting new people and learning about their lives. It was a rare feeling for her, she always felt so weighed down by responsibility. But they didn’t only roam the seas for their own enjoyment. They had a higher purpose. To free slaves whenever they could, whether they be sirens or humans. Daenerys may have no love lost for the humans, but she would not punish those victimised by slavers. Viserys thought that was a weakness. _You’re freeing creatures who will come back and kill you_, she could hear echoed in her head. But that was a risk she’d be willing to take for any living thing to have their freedom.

Missandei needed to steal a heart. Viserys only allowed Daenerys’ friends to be around the palace if they earned their keep, as he put it. Funny thing to say for someone who had his psychopathic lackeys do his work for him. An average siren would at most collect two hearts in their lifetime. The best of the best would have a heart for every year they’d been alive. A tradition. It was usually bred through families. Once a hunter had a child, they would gift them a heart on their birthday each year. Once their child grew to be a teenager they’d start hunting in their own right. However, if the siren decided they didn’t want to be a hunter, a rare thing amongst hunter families, the hearts would go back to the parent who stole them.

Missandei was not raised in Valyria, she was stolen as a teenager from the waters near Naath and kept as a prisoner on a slaver’s ship. Daenerys and a few others had lured the sailors to crash the ship, that’s the first time she ever saw Missandei. Amidst the ruins was a huge tank that didn’t break even when the shipwrecked. She, Irri and Rakharo had smashed the tank by repeatedly slamming it with their fins. Missandei was sickly and had a metal collar wrapped around her neck so tight that she couldn’t sing, she could scarcely breathe. For years that is how Missandei survived. She fought a battle for every breathe.

She was the bravest siren Daenerys had ever met. Not to mention the smartest, as while in captivity Missandei had listened closely to the sailors from many kingdoms and taught herself as many languages as she could. Daenerys would be surprised if there were any siren or human in the world who could speak as many tongues as Missandei. They’d become friends and won each other’s trust so that now, many years later, they were the closest confidante’s either one had, sisters in spirit if not blood. 

Which is why Daenerys hates that Missandei has to steal hearts to appease Viserys. She was good and kind despite all that she’d been through. She wasn’t naïve, she understood that violence was sometimes necessary but didn’t partake in it herself unless she absolutely had to. Which unfortunately now, she did. Viserys didn’t bother with the ritual until this year. He’d long been indifferent to Daenerys’ friends, ignoring them for the most part. But recently he’d seemed shocked they still were around. after Maybe he thought they wouldn’t stay close, that she would retreat into isolation and cling to her brother as her only hope as she so often had as children. But she wasn’t a child anymore and she needed more than Viserys could give her. 

In bitterness or jealousy, she wasn’t sure, Viserys had demanded that Missandei start hunting every year to prove herself worthy of a place in his kingdom. Missandei had agreed but privately admitted how nervous she was. Daenerys and Grey Worm had assured her they would help guide her. After all, Viserys never said she had to go hunting alone. 

It seemed obvious when they neared the end of their trip that they could knock out Missandei’s hunt and their own anti-slavery hunt in one go.

They pop up near the ship and let loose their song, voices rising in sync. It’s not a powerful song, meant to reach over vast distances. It’s almost a whisper in the wind, drawing their targets near. The targets in this case being Randyll and Dickon Tarly. Randyll was the King of Reach Kingdom, known for its fertile lands. They grow fruits and grains that many other kingdoms depend on, making them a very rich kingdom. So why then, does Randyll Tarly need slaves to work his fields, tend his farms and serve his household? Slavery is outlawed in the Western isles, so why did he travel far to acquire people. Daenerys is no stranger to men like Randyll. He’ll end up paying his workers a meagre sum so as not to break any laws, but never enough that they’ll have enough money for freedom. Those who try to flee will be harmed if not killed. It’s nothing new. He’s your run-off-the-mill sadist. 

As if that wasn’t enough, there was his betrayal of the Tyrell’s. A rarity in the world, the only known case in the world actually, the Tyrell’s, the siren family that lived near the Reach had a truce with the Tarly's. 

This was a long time ago, during Aegon’s War. Back when sirens could transform whenever they pleased, and as often as they liked could live on land or sea. When humans were friends, lovers, drinking partners, not a despised foe. A time when their song was used for entertaining, not killing. The two families had made a deal, while everyone else was murdering wantonly. 

The sirens would never set foot on land again, even before the magic that allowed it was destroyed, and harm a human. The Tarly’s ships, that brought food to many kingdoms, would never set traps or harm a siren. 

And so it had been for hundreds of years, without feuding. To say they lived in peace was an exaggeration, they tacitly ignored one another’s existence. Until Randyll Tarly had decided he didn’t want to keep to his word. Every last one of the community was killed. Daenerys had been closely acquainted with Margaery Tyrell, their princess, for a time. She herself had been captured by the Lannister’s of the Westerlands kingdom, along with her brother and father, been hauled on deck before being burnt alive. After hearing of the tragedy, Daenerys had visited Olenna, their leader, and become friendly with the old woman. Olenna had encouraged Daenerys to continue her hunts, told her that the sirens needed her to keep ridding the world of evil humans. Sadly, she hadn’t been able to rid the world of the Tarly’s until it was too late. But she would not let Olenna down now.

Their song lifts and lilts and it’s not long before two faces appear above them. Irri and Qhono are on the other side of the ship enchanting the crew, a song so light they can’t hear it. Not to harm them, not yet anyway, just to distract them from noticing their king and prince are walking to their deaths. 

Randyll is a harsh looking man, bald with cruel eyes. Daenerys almost has to stifle a laugh when a smile breaks out over his face.

“Look at you,” he murmurs at Missandei, already infatuated. 

“You’re so beautiful,” the younger Tarly says, tall but dopey looking, even without her enchanting him, “are you my love? Have I finally found you?”

Daenerys only smiles at his dumb, handsome face. The king is gazing at Missandei, his eyes glazing, speaking so softly they can’t hear. 

“Come aboard, my love” Dickon pleads with her. She shakes her head reaching her hand up, Missandei following suit. 

“I’ll come to you then!” With a joyous expression he flings himself overboard, Daenerys ducking under to meet him. 

She hears a second splash which must be the king. She’s about to drag him under when she hears more splashing behind her. Looking over she sees Missandei struggling with Randyll. Swimming over to them lightning fast, she pulls Randyll’s arms behind his back, breaking one in the process. He still thrashes and fights, but she pays him no mind, looking only at her friend. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? Viserys doesn’t need to know,” she asks her friend in Valyrian.

Missandei looks unsure but the Daenerys sees the fight in her eyes, the pain she usually hides so well. Missandei, above all else, believes in justice. Randyll Tarly’s death will be that for the slaves he bought and the sirens he murdered. Missandei nods to herself.

“Show me how.”

Daenerys breaks his left arm to cease his struggling and places her left hand over his heart, digging her nails in. Missandei interlocks their fingers and together they bore into his chest. Daenerys lets go, so Missandei alone pulls his heart out. She looks torn between feeling pride and sick, not unlike how Daenerys felt on her first kill. She squeezes her friend’s shoulder and turns back to Dickon. 

Despite the fact that he is halfway to drowning, and that the enchantment in another human would have passed by now, he keeps looking at her with love. She smiles at him, almost doubtful about this decision. But no, he had helped massacre the Tyrell’s, she couldn’t doubt herself now. With a warm smile still on her face, she tears out his heart. 

Hearts in hand, she and Missandei swim under the ship to meet the others. Irri and Red Fly had stopped their song and the screams onboard had begun. Grey Worm and a few other Unsullied join them. In unison, they start a new song. One that has the crew who were loyal to Randyll going below deck and freeing the slaves, one that has them laying their weapons down. From there, the people free themselves. Daenerys and her friends only wish to give them the freedom that was stolen from them. They listen as the fighting comes above deck, several men being thrown overboard. Daenerys, Grey Worm and Qhono dive after them. There’s no need to steal these hearts, but they dispatch of them quickly and efficiently, pulling them deep enough that they’ll never make it back to the surface without drowning. 

Once the screams die off, they hear muffled conversations before several people look overboard. One of them, a young woman, says something in a language she doesn’t know. But, of course, Missandei does. They converse back and forth.

“What is she saying?” Grey Worm asks.

“She asked if we freed them. I told her that we only gave them the opportunity to free themselves. She’s saying that some of them used to work on ships and can sail but don’t have anywhere to go, don’t know where they are and if we can help them. There’s no home for them to go back to.” Daenerys’ heart ached. She had a home to go back to, a palace in fact. But one she dreaded returning to. 

“Tell them, if they want, we can guide them to the Summer Islands or to Dorne. They’ll have to find work, somehow, but both are said to be welcoming as long as you’re respectful of their culture. They could go to Braavos or Pentos, but while neither participates in slavery, they often ignore it when it goes on.” Daenerys had heard from another siren that under Queen Elia’s rule, Dorne had flourished, that they often welcomed people who had no home elsewhere.

Missandei translates to the young woman who disappears from sight, presumably to discuss it with the others. Daenerys looks at the heart in her hand, she dives under and looks at all the bodies, some sinking from the weight of their armour, only a speck in the distance, some beginning to float to the surface. She reminds herself that she does this for a reason, that for all the blood shed there is more blood spared. 

When the woman returns to look at them from the ship, she says only one word: “Dorne.”

With that, she and the others swim to the front of the ship, ready to guide them to their new home.

A week later, after guiding the ship to Dorne, they decided it was time to return home. Valyria was located to the East and was named after the land kingdom that stories say their siren ancestors used to live when they could switch between land and sea with ease. The underwater kingdom was surrounded by volcanic islands and was why no humans ever sailed towards them. There was enough room between islands for ships to sail through, but none ever dared. Even the most fearsome would not take their chances at being burnt by bursts of lava. There is a vast series of caves to the north of Valyria that lead inland, which is where the sirens would transform into humans, as the tales go. But since the Doom had destroyed the land and all life on it the caves were easy to get lost and killed in, so no siren ever tried, and as the years passed, no one cared. Why would they want to find this dead land that they couldn’t even walk on if they wanted to, which they didn’t? Probably stories to keep the children entertained, Daenerys thought.

There were rumours that the late King Rhaegar knew his way around them but seeing as he’d been dead nearly 25 years whatever knowledge he may have had, had died with him. 

Daenerys suggested a leisurely route back to Valyria, in no rush to deal with King Viserys’ histrionics. Her own brother, and even in private he had her address him as such. If his violence and arrogance weren’t enough to paint a picture for her of who he was, the fact he clung to his reputation and titles would have cleared it up for her. She had many titles herself. Those who walked the land loved to give her cute little pet names. The Mad Queen of the Sea. The Sea Bitch. The Royal Bane. Heart-Eater. The last might be her favourite. But alas, aside from that one time, Daenerys did not make a habit of eating the hearts she stole. The humans despised her, she knew that without a doubt, but they’d never know how much they should be praying to their gods that she truly was the queen of the sirens. Much fewer of them would die if that were the case.

She tried to ignore the creeping anxiety. Viserys wouldn’t be unhappy, she’d killed a royal, he should be ecstatic. As long as the humans lived in fear of them, they would be safe. As long as they never got too confident, their area of the world would remain human-free.

But Viserys had grown jealous lately. He’d always had a cruel streak and it was only getting more difficult to predict when it would come out. He used to love when she would bring hearts back. But now, aside from the yearly one she would present and dedicate to him on her birthday, their family tradition, he would scoff disdainfully, seeing her killing slavers as an act of charity for the humans. He didn’t understand that she didn’t care what species they were, that she would kill any slaver she came across. 

It was weeks before her birthday and she had killed a royal. He wasn’t going to like that. She usually saved the royal hearts for her birthday, so she could dedicate it to him, and he would feel special, appeased, like he had stolen it himself. The sycophants he kept around him were amongst the best siren hunters, had a heart for each year of their life. 

Daenerys had been alive for almost 23 years and had three times as many hearts. Her brother should be proud, and yet she knew he would not be. She could not ignore the sense of foreboding as they grew closer to home.

~~~

He woke to the sound of laughter. Obnoxious, raucous, can-hear-all-the-way-from-his-quarters laughter. Why Jon ever thought it would be a good idea to hire wildlings onto his crew, he’ll never know. With a deep sigh, he pulls himself out of bed, feeling mournful about the day already thought it had barely begun. He was feeling like this more and more lately. Well in truth, he’d always felt like this but had gotten good at distracting himself. 

As a boy under Catelyn’s hateful glare, he would busy himself playing with his siblings or practicing sword-fighting. As a young man, desperate to make his father proud, he took a post with the Night’s Watch, the organisation that protects the Northern Kingdom from those who live in the Lands of Always Winter. After his father died, he took it upon himself to try and change the perception of the wildling’s in the eyes of the Northerners. Establishing small communities for them to live, where they had land that they could farm instead of the desolate lifestyle they had before, but far enough away from towns so that nobody was forced to be in each other’s space. He wasn’t sure how successful he’d been in changing anyone’s mind, but he’d saved people from starvation and proved to Robb he could be responsible, be a good right-hand man as it was always supposed to be. 

But then, like father, Robb died. 

No, like father, he was murdered. By the monsters that tormented the seas. The monsters that Jon would excise from the sea. 

Jon had no idea that Robb had named him his heir. It was highly unusual given that he was a bastard. That didn’t bother people in many kingdoms, but in the North it was an insult. The lords had revolted, angry at yet another of their king’s dying, angrier that said king had named a bastard in charge of them. But Ser Davos, a friend of his father’s, pointed out that if the lords wished to depose Jon then the next obvious choice would be Sansa, as the eldest of Ned Stark’s trueborn children, or even his wife, Lady Catelyn. Given that the lords were mostly sexist, close-minded old men, they refused this idea. 

After Sansa, the next in line would be Bran, who they didn’t want because of his disability, a result of a childhood accident. After him was Rickon, who also was deemed unsuitable due to his very young age. Arya didn’t even come into the question, on account of her being both a woman and well, being Arya. 

So, reluctantly the lords, his lords now, accepted Jon Snow as their King in the North. After the death of two kings in such a short space of time the country was nearing turmoil, its no wonder they gave up their fight against him fast. Jon only wanted to succeed for his father and brother’s memories. More so for Robb if he was honest with himself. The brother who made him king despite his illegitimate status, a show of loyalty from family that he’d never had before. Arya, as much as she was his favourite sibling, was not in a position to make grand gestures. 

He was devastated by Robb’s death, so devastated he felt almost nothing at all. It was like his pain receptors decided to stop working, knowing if he allowed himself to feel the pain he would never recover. His brother, closest in age, partner-in-crime, gone. Robb had grown into a fine young man and had found a wonderful wife that he adored, had been hoping to start a family with. All that potential, gone. 

Only one man survived the massacre long enough for another ship to find him. The crew pulled him on board, and said the man only muttered that “there was an army of them.” He died of hypothermia not long after. Jon went to the ceremony, though there were no bodies to bury. He held Arya in one arm and Rickon in the other. He didn’t cry and he didn’t want to. He’d made an unconscious choice to close himself off. There was fighting about who was to rule in the wake of Robb’s death, but he didn’t want to be around to witness it. He stayed only long enough as not to appear rude and then went back to working with the wildlings to help integrate them into their new lives. But he woke up and went to sleep each day with a dull buzz in his head, drowning out all that he could not allow himself to feel.

Until one day, almost two months after Robb’s death, Ser Davos found his will. It was tucked away in a drawer of his belongings that no one had had the heart to go through. He and Talisa’s chambers remained empty, none but Catelyn had entered them since news of his death, and she had refused to let anyone else go in. Ser Davos finally took it upon himself to clear their things, hoping it would push everyone to decide on who was to rule. Turns out they wouldn’t need to; Robb had already decided.

Hearing the news is what broke Jon. He sobbed for what felt like days, locked himself away and screamed himself hoarse. It was a mixture of grieving those he’d lost, those he’d never knew, the life he and Robb were supposed to see through together, and this melancholic joy at finally being recognized as someone. Not the unimportant nobody he’d always felt like. And with that followed guilt, as he’d only been named king because Robb was gone. Being named his heir was the last thing he expected, and all he wanted was to hug his brother, tell him he loves him and would do him proud. But he couldn’t, he would never hug Robb again.

Jon would be lying to himself if he said he’d never wanted this. Not in these circumstances, but as a boy he often thought about being his father’s heir. He was the oldest after all. He listened to Maester Luwin, he trained hard at combat lessons, he tried diligently to be seen as Ned Stark’s true son, in nature if not in name. But he could only ignore the whispers for so long. That bastards were ambitious and greedy by nature. That he would be disloyal to his family if it got him what he wanted. After that, Jon tried to want it less. He tried to tamper down his ambitions, which he never saw as impure or selfish before.

But being a king wasn’t all he thought it would be as a boy. The lords didn’t respect him all of a sudden, neither did Lady Catelyn. He was still the bastard boy. The single tarnish on Ned Stark’s impeccable honour. Only now they had to respect him, very begrudgingly, lest it be treason. 

After a year of helping his kingdom regain its equilibrium, of making deals, and settling petty squabbles, he was tired. So tired of the cutting looks, and whispered comments. Of having to keep his temper, for whenever he lost it the lords and their ladies looked at him as if he was some feral animal, some child Ned found in the woods, not like the boy who grew up almost as privileged as his siblings. Jon knew then that no matter how much good he did for his people their respect was conditional. It’s not that they never praised him. Northerners were quick to exclaim their undying loyalty to him…until the next minor disagreement and it was back to being ‘The Bastard King.’ He grew tired of the ups and downs, the claims they made of Northern pride and their kingdom’s superiority, ignoring the fact they depended heavily on the resources of other kingdoms to survive. But he bit his tongue, as much as he was able to anyway, and smoothed out their concerns. Jon had always tried to be honest, but sometimes he would give his vassals whatever pretty, empty words they needed to get them to shut up and let him rule. 

When news came in of several other attacks at sea, vicious like the one Robb had been killed in, Jon tried to bring up the idea of going on the offense at a meeting with his liegemen. That they should no longer live in fear of open waters. That they, like other kingdoms, had a duty to fight back against what killed their previous kings. He thought they would go for the idea, given how often they screamed of justice. But no one wanted to volunteer any of their men, let alone themselves. He thought maybe they feared the water, trying to tell them they would do training exercises not far out enough that sirens would be present, practicing catching them with nets and shooting with harpoons. He assured them all that they would prepare before going out into any dangerous territory. But it wasn’t scared faces he saw looking back at him from his high seat, it was apathy. And that was more cowardly than fear could ever be. 

Things were stable in the kingdom, people were fed, the wildlings had set in. Merchant ships brought their goods to them, so there was no need for any Northerners to step foot on a ship. They were comfortable and had no desire to change that, even if it meant saving lives. Jon knew at that point he could no longer keep up this charade. 

He had longed for Winterfell, an expansive castle of grey stone that sits overtop a cliff on the eastern coast of the Northern Kingdom. He made friends with his fellow Night’s Watchmen, even made friends with some wildlings but it wasn’t home. He visited often when helping settle the wildlings in their northern territories, but his trips were always fleeting. Returning home, even in the wake of tragic circumstances, had felt like a blessing. But there he was, a year later, and all he wanted was to leave. Catelyn still despised him; Sansa was not cruel to him like when they were children but still undermined him whenever she had the opportunity. Arya was around and they were as close as ever, but she was often busy with the blacksmith boy. Bran was a daydreamer, never seeming all that present and Rickon, when you could find him, was closer to the feral animal that the lords thought Jon was. 

He never thought he’d reject his duties; it was an ingrained part of him to be responsible and attentive to other’s needs. But in a way he didn’t see what he was about to do as a failure. His people, and the entire world, needed the seas to be safer. Yes, a part of him wanted vengeance, a large part but it wasn’t just about him. It was about everyone who had ever lost someone to those vile creatures. Everyone who stood by the docks waiting for their loved one’s ship to come in, wondering why they were so late, denying to themselves that it was the worst-caste scenario. He knew that pain, he’d lived it when his father and brother died. If he could protect others from that pain, that agony that Jon knew had changed him on every level, then he would.

So, after discussing it with Arya and Davos, who reassured him he was doing the right thing, Jon told his lords that he’d undertake the mission himself. He would leave a council to rule in his stead made up of Catelyn, Sansa, Bran and Rickon when he was old enough. He knew without either of them saying it that Arya was going with him. At first, there was outrage but it quickly petered out when the lords realised that they would no longer have to pretend to respect Jon. He would come back as often as he could to deal with matters on land, he would keep in contact with the council frequently by raven, but they all knew he would be their king in name only. They wouldn’t have to bow to a woman or a cripple either, so their bigoted ways would remain intact. He wished luck to his council and hoped they’d have an easier time dealing with their vassals than he had. 

And now, two years later and countless sirens dead at his crews’ hands, he wondered when the emptiness would subside. When he’d finally feel alive again. 

Hearing yells from on deck, Jon hurried to dress and see what was going on. 

“We’ve got one, Snow!” Tormund, the huge ginger wildling, yelled at him. His crew were bust heaving a massive net upwards. Going over to the side of the ship, Jon saw the thrashing creature and heard its throaty protests. He’d never get used to that awful sound. 

If demons were real that’s what they’d sound like, thought Jon. Well, they are real. They’re demons of the deep.

Pulling it onto deck, the siren struggles to be free of the net. Not seeing the sense in wasting any time, he stalks over to it. The creature lashes out at him, catching him in the chest. 

_There’s another to add to the collection. _

He feels the sting of his skin breaking, his blood soaking his shirt but lashes out himself, cutting the siren with his trusty knife. The knife he bought from a mage, enchanted to drink the blood of its kill’s. With the way siren blood burns, it was a wise purchase. He doesn’t want the crew to constantly be repairing holes on the decks. The creature scuttles back and snarls but he doesn’t stop advancing, plunging his blade into its heart. 

“Alright lads and ladies, its not like you’ve never seen a siren melt before, back to work,” Davos, how his first mate, calls to the crew. 

“Couldn’t leave one for the rest of us, could you?” Arya quips at him. 

He exhales a laugh, or the closest thing to a laugh he’s capable of these days and heads up to the helm. 

“Any news?” he asks Davos.

“A raven came, a letter for you, from home.” Reading the scroll, Jon sighs. 

He knows he has to return to Winterfell, just to show his face as their king. It’s been near five months since he’s been back, by far the longest period since he left in the first place. He can’t help but find it a little funny that the only way he gets news from home is by a raven, part of a flock that he bought along with the blade and net, from a mage. Taking a drop of blood, the birds are connected to Jon through very slight blood magic, so wherever he is in the world, the birds will find him. As long as the northern lords can send him their complaints it seems they don’t ask many questions about how their letters are never lost at sea. 

Their king has enchanted ravens that he uses to receive letters from home and from scouts he’d made deals with on where there had been siren sightings. Their king used a net, enchanted to be fine enough to be nearly invisible to the eye when submerged, but sharp enough to shred skin if a siren tries to escape. Then there’s the blade, but that’s more for his own convenience. If the lords knew this about him, they’d be ready to hang him the moment he stepped ashore. Lucky for him, they were happy to live in ignorance.

He wonders what his younger self would think of what he’s become. 

_He hadn’t seen half the shit I have now so who cares about what he thinks_, Jon thinks to himself.

“Listen up,” he calls out over the noisy deck, “I think you’re all due a break from your hard work. Change course, we’re going to Winterfell.”

Cheers erupt from the crew. They’d all found a second home in the North, no matter where they were from originally. He’d promised that to anyone who joined his crew. If they were loyal to him, he’d be loyal to them.

The crew excitedly set to work but Jon only looks on as they trudge over where only the sea foam remains of what was once a monster. 

He can make it a fleeting trip, stop over to show his face and be on his way. There’s too many of them out there.

_There was an army of them,_ the words echoed in his head. 

Going down the steps to join his crew, he endured pats on the back as thanks and hoped they couldn’t see his smile was more of a grimace.

_Home sweet home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what i'm writing, but lets just roll with it
> 
> thank you for the comments!! i've been too busy writing to respond but i'm not working this week so i promise i'll make time
> 
> next chapter hopefully by friday/saturday
> 
> ramreads1 on twitter


	3. took your toll on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting there lads

Arriving back in Valyria, Daenerys was in no mood to deal with her brother yet. That problem could wait until morning. She departed from her friends and went to rest up for the confrontation she knew was coming. 

She couldn’t help but feel a little lonely. Irri and Qhono paired off, as did Missandei and Grey Worm. Irri had finally decided to give love another chance a few years after losing Rakharo. It was difficult for her to move on and she was admittedly afraid of falling in love when times were so treacherous for their kind. When it seemed like sailors were killing sirens at a faster rate than they ever had before. Rakharo’s death had hit them all hard, they thought Irri would never recover. Such an open display of affection for their kind was rare. Sirens had unions, marriages, partnerships but discussions or admittances of love were not something that was encouraged, they occurred in the most private of settings if they occurred at all. They were encouraged to be callous, to be the monsters the land dwellers thought them. 

Missandei and Grey Worm were her closest friends, the loves of her life if she were being truthful, and they had each other. It was a lovely thing to watch two people she loved, fall in love with each other. But there was a part of her that longed for that. She’d been in love before but had never found her person. Someone just for herself. Someone who understands you on a level no one else does, and vice versa. Not necessarily a lover, a friend or a family member would be most welcome. But her dearest friends already had found that in another, and her only living family member was…Viserys. 

She once thought the world of him. Their childhood was tumultuous. King Rhaegar was killed by a brute human soldier for supposedly murdering his betrothed, Daenerys doubted the truth of those claims. King Rhaegar’s reign, from what she had heard, was a peaceful one until the last year or so of his life. 

All sirens that lived during his reign could agree that there was far less conflict between the two worlds at that time. However, some thought that made him a weak king, one that deserved to be torn apart by a human. Others thought he was wise, a king to bring about a new era, but those thoughts could only be whispered, lest Viserys or one of his creepy accomplices hear them. 

Rhaegar was a distant cousin, how they were exactly related she was unsure. There was a lot if inbreeding amongst the sirens once peace with the humans was broken irrevocably. For many generations, humans and sirens had loved and had children together freely, before the magic that gave sirens their transformation abilities had disappeared. That meant that the children of these unions were sometimes born with the ability to transform at will, and others could only walk the land. Some were born with the power of siren song; others could not even hold a tune. There was no predicting what side of the coin the child would fall on. Occasionally, every few generations, the royal family of Valyria would have siblings marry and have children to ensure that the abilities would not be lost from their family bloodline should some members choose to have children with a human. Very few did choose this amongst the Targaryen’s, but it was to ensure that no matter how many of the sirens had half-human/half-siren children the abilities of their kind would always remain strong. 

After Queen Rhaenys was murdered, all peace between sirens and humans was murdered alongside her. Visenya and Aegon’s War lasted years. Any sea travel at that time was a death sentence. And if they couldn’t travel by sea, many kingdoms starved. 

Magic had started to deplete after Aegon’s War in both the siren and human world, she had heard. It still existed, but far less so than it had once. The magic that did exist was not nearly as powerful, and still cost a great fortune to procure. 

Rhaegar’s parent’s death meant he was raised by her own parents. He left no heir, so the crown went to her father, Aerys. The Mad King. Cruel to humans and sirens alike, his viciousness knew no bounds. He was only stopped when his own advisers encouraged his delusions that he’d be able to swim through the volcanic pools in the cave system that surrounded the old land kingdom, Valyria, that they took their namesake from. Their great family was overthrown. Her mother fled with them as well as a few trusted guards. Daenerys was only very young, four or so when they went into exile. Valyria did not flourish without them, as no one could decide upon a ruler. Petty disagreements turned into violence on a whim, where there was once order, but she didn’t learn any of this until much later. 

Being exiles, other siren communities were rarely open to having them as guests. No one wanted to host a tainted Targaryen. Some were even so cruel enough to attack if they hunted in what was deemed their hunting grounds and would chase them off to areas without a lot of fish to eat. Maybe they hoped they would starve, and the ocean would finally be free of Targaryen’s. Its not as callous as full-blown murder but it still gets the job done. Thankfully with their guards, Arthur Dayne and Willem Darry, the chances of starvation were low. It was vengeful sirens they had to worry about. Unfortunately, a great many sirens were vengeful.

Rhaella grew sick, a consequence of years of suffering her brother-husband’s abuse. Daenerys remembers before the exile, her mother bringing her hearts. After the exile, with her mother in ill-health, Arthur or Willem Darry would procure the hearts for her and Viserys. But Rhaella was who instilled the idea that the hearts she stole could serve a bigger purpose. She was the one who told Daenerys that the humans didn’t always have to be the enemy. Rhaella always made sure the hearts she stole were from those who would not be missed. 

She’d always taken those lessons to heart before her poor, sickly mother was murdered by humans. 

It was winter, a bad one, and the humans had been fishing a great deal more than usual. Stocking up on whatever they could, Arthur had told her. By that point he was their main caretaker. 

Willem was killed by old enemies of the Targaryen’s who wanted justice. At the time she was confused by this. The Targaryen’s who scorned these sirens were long dead, and Willem himself wasn’t a Targaryen. But she’s since learned that what is deemed justice is not always fair. If a siren kills a human, then ships of humans will set sail to kill any and all sirens they come across, regardless of their guilt. And so, the sirens respond in kind. And on and on it goes. 

It’s a way of life, she’d been taught. A very, very stupid one, but one that all adhered to. She couldn’t exclude herself from that, either. If she knew how to change it, if she thought she actually could, then she would. But she was just the sister of a cruel king who had no desire to change anything for the better.

She thinks her mother would have liked to have changed things. Her life was one cruelty after another, though you wouldn’t have known it. She radiated kindness and didn’t seem to hold any resentment for her life’s circumstances. Daenerys wished she had that kind of strength.

That winter, what felt so long ago now, even the warmer lands water’s had cooled. Arthur had been gone for days, while the last three Targaryen’s waited in a cove. Tired of waiting, of always having to depend on others, Rhaella, gaunt and shivering, took fate into her own hands. She had no way of knowing when Arthur would return and the measly offerings of fish they found nearby were not enough to sustain growing sirens. 

They’d been bordering on starvation and cast out of every siren community they came across. No one wanted to taint their reputations by helping a Targaryen. Rhaella thought if she went further inland, to where the fishing boats were going trawling one last time before returning home for winter, that she might be able to grab some fish that slipped away from human nets. A small fishing boat caught her in a net when she went too close to the shore. 

It was a tiny thing, Viserys had said, not worthy of capturing a queen. He’d gone after her and had told Daenerys to stay put. Viserys had returned a day later, quiet and motherless. She didn’t need to ask what had happened, but he told her anyway, and held her when she cried. Arthur returned a week later, when their cheeks were starting to hollow. He’d found a place where they could live and settle for the winter. He was devastated at Rhaella’s loss. He’d been close with King Rhaegar, and Rhaella had always been kind to him, he’d told them. 

He’d cared for them during the winter but only days after they’d left their safe haven in search of a more permanent solution, Arthur had been captured and killed by men from the Northern kingdom. Viserys had recognised their sails. He told her they were from the house of the woman that Rhaegar had killed.

They had fled from the ship, hoping Arthur was following them. They stopped when they heard his dying song. Not one to enchant anyone, one that was full of pain and said goodbye to them.

After that it was just her and Viserys. She was just a girl, and he a boy. But he had to be brother, parent and best friend to her. The first few years she couldn’t have asked for a better protector. But he grew embittered, whether it was a side of him that was always destined to come out, like their father, making an early appearance or whether their near starvation and desolation drew it out of him, she’ll never know. But to this day she misses the brother that would hunt fish for her and make games out of situations she now knew to be perilous. 

It was that side of him she could never let go. No matter how many times he proved to her that that Viserys was long gone.

They eventually were found and brought back to Valyria by old families who claimed they had always been loyal to the Targaryen’s. That was obviously a lie, but they accepted it if it would bring them home.

By the time she was 12, she was a princess again and Viserys a king. As he always wanted. It was from that age she was expected to be ruthless, and so ruthless she was. Not just for Viserys, but for herself too. She’d never let herself survive only on someone else’s whim ever again. That was until, he sold her. 

Daenerys couldn’t help but think of Daario in her loneliness. Their latest trip was the first one they’d been on since she’d ended her relationship with him. Travelling so much meant she met a lot of sirens, and thus had had a fair few lovers, both male and female. But Daario was the only one to last any amount of time. Things were fine between them, good even, but the girlish infatuation she’d had with him had faded. Infatuation was perhaps too glib a word to describe what they’d had. She had loved him; she just wasn’t sure when she’d stopped. It was only meant to be a dalliance, like most of the others, but it went on too long. 

He treated her well, was never cruel to her but Daenerys didn’t think Daario knew how to separate his love for her from his love for her power. His proposal of marriage was enough for Daenerys to see that their relationship was not built to last. She almost wished he’d done something to her; strayed or betrayed her trust, something unforgivable, but no, she simply fell out of love. She didn’t feel good about breaking his heart, but she didn’t feel all that remorseful either. Daario had no doubt gone back to his promiscuity in obscurity. He could fight and fuck whoever he wanted now; she’d done him a favour. 

She snuck back to her chambers, careful to avoid her brother or one of his leeches. Arriving in the only safe space she had in the stupendous palace, she immediately went to the large, bronze treasure chest, surrounded by masses of pink coral. She pricks her finger on one of the points and the coral recedes letting her past. She’d had to trade quite a few goods to have the coral enchanted to her blood only, so it was unable to be passed or destroyed by anyone else. It was worth it though; she didn’t trust many sirens in this palace. 

Inside were all the hearts she had ever stolen, and those gifted to her by her mother. These her seashell necklace, and a pearl-encrusted mirror were all that she had left of her mother. In that moment, she longed for nothing more than her mother’s embrace. She could hardly remember what it felt like. Holding back tears, she mentally scolds herself. This was no time for weakness.

In her hands she held her seventieth heart. That didn’t include the countless others she’d drowned or wounded badly enough with a deep cut. It didn’t include those of her own kind. She couldn’t count how many lives she’d taken, and she didn’t want. She placed the heart with the others and stamped out any feelings of guilt. 

She laid down on the soft seabed and willed for sleep to take her. She could think no more about speaking with Viserys tomorrow, her anxieties would do her no good. Maybe it wouldn’t even be that bad. He might be proud of her initiative. These days he was mostly vexed with her. Not like when he used to be proud. Slowly, she drifted to sleep, reminiscing on the hardest times of her life but times when her brother was kind.

She was uneasy, off-kilter since she woke. She had dreamed of the red door again. There was a pattern to it, she’d realised. It would always occur after weeks, occasionally even months, exploring the ocean before returning home to Valyria, the vast underwater kingdom she called home. Except it didn’t feel like home. Well, she didn’t actually know what that felt like, but she didn’t think it felt like Valyria. Roaming the vast seas with her friends, the ones she loved like family, that is when she felt most herself. And isn’t that what home was? A place you could live freely without fear. If that’s the case, then here definitely isn’t home. 

That red door beckoned her, but she didn’t know why. The details weren’t always so clear, fuzzy in her mind. What she did remember was the door was built into a stone building, light brown bricks but even from the front she could tell it was a ruin. Part of the ceiling was missing, and although the building looked quaint, it also looked slightly run-down. All except the red door, which gleamed, pulling her towards it. But she resisted the pull, both wanting and scared of what she would find. More ruins would be the reasonable answer but something about this dream felt more real. 

The more Daenerys thought about it, the more foolish she felt. The door was in a field, that she usually recalled, but it changed slightly each time. Sometimes it was surrounded by other buildings in her peripheral, sometimes it stood alone. Often there was a tree outside, growing apples, or plums, or oranges. She could never nail that detail down. All to say, it was always on land. A place where she could not go, even if she wanted to. And she didn’t.

It felt odd being back in the palace. She avoided conversation with her brother’s fawners who took up every corner in the grand aquatic manse. To be fair, she only knew what land castle’s looked like from her collection of enchanted books, enchanted so they did not sustain water damage. Still, from the drawings she’d seen, the land dwellers were missing out. Viserys’ Castle, as he retitled it upon ascending to the throne, at the heart of the kingdom was a sight to behold. Built by her ancestors hundreds of years ago, it was the hub of all siren life. There were many other communities, of course, smaller kingdoms with their own way of life. But none were as central to sirens as Valyria. All sirens spoke the Valyrian language, even if it was not their mother tongue. 

Coming upon Viserys’ ostentatious chambers, she steels herself. She tried to shake off any visible signs of her wayward thoughts, of the red door. If Viserys saw any weakness he would pounce, and all Daenerys wanted to do was get their meeting over with. 

There he was, sat upon his pearl throne and surrounded by treasures. Around his neck sat the ivory, curved and somewhat conical seashell. Very unlike her own. His seashell had always been worn by the king of Valyria. It was part of the transformation process. 

While Daenerys had a bright red tale, Viserys had ten purple tentacles, the colour of their eyes. It was a gift from their ancestors, so the stories went, that the king of their kind would gain unknowable strength and a distinction to set himself apart and above those he ruled. Her father had the same. But King Rhaegar had not. She’d heard he’d had a red tale like hers.

He still wore the seashell around his neck but didn’t have the powers that came with it. His supporter say it was because he felt no need to exert his power of others, he knew his own strength and had the love of his people. His detractors say that their ancestors must have deemed him unworthy, that he was not fit to be king of the sirens. 

All Daenerys knows is that Viserys, even as a young man, was already demanding and greedy. Giving him strength that he never earned was a dangerous thing. She didn’t think time had proved her wrong. 

“Sister!” Viserys called jovially to her from his throne, surrounded by his stolen treasures. This wasn’t his public chambers, where he would meet with the public. No, her own brother had a throne installed in his personal chambers. Not even their extravagant ancestors had done that. There was a lithe siren draped over his lap and another floating around them, trying to gain his attention by the looks of things. Daenerys couldn’t blame them, as long as they were Viserys’ toys they wouldn’t have to hunt. All sirens knew the dangers of hunting were growing larger.

“Viserys,” she greeted, hearing the coolness of her tone and suppressing a wince. It would do no good to get on his bad side. “Perhaps we could chat in private?”

“You heard Dany, out you go!” He clapped his hands and his entertainers swiftly left the chambers; no doubt glad to get a break from her brother’s unique personality. Once they had left, he turned to Daenerys with that smug smile on his face she had grown to despise.

“Jealous, Dany? There’s no need, you know you’ll always be my favourite.”

She suppressed a shiver. 

“That wouldn’t be the word I’d use. I just don’t think your obsessions of the month should hear details of our meetings before you discard of them.”

“You’d prefer I take one of them to wife? Or both of them?”

“I’d prefer if you’d treat your…lovers with more respect.”

“Lovers?” Viserys guffawed, “they’re whores, Dany, sluts. They don’t have to work elsewhere as long as they’re mine. I pay them with comfort, not respect. We really ought to thank the vile dogs of the land for them you know. Our ancestors didn’t have whores before they started dealing with the humans. Of all the ideas we took from them, I’m glad it was that.”

“Of course you are,” Daenerys muttered. “Do you ever think that maybe they only see you as the lesser of two dangers? It’s either please you or risk themselves near the surface. You know how dangerous it is these days for those not experienced at hunting, even for those who are.”

“You’re absolutely right, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I trust you enjoyed your travels with those…” he trailed off.

“Friends of mine,” she filled in for him.

“Yes, whatever you say,” he rolled his eyes, as if the concept of friendship was beneath him. “You’re back now, and as you said, the humans are becoming rather bold in their tactics. We need a show of force. Something vicious, that will throw them off for a while. I can think of no one better for the job than you Royal Bane.”

“Not even Roose Bolton? He’s who you usually go to.” The words slipped from her before she could stop them. There was no hiding the disgust in her tone. There was also no mistaking the cold look Viserys cut her.

“You are still mad about the Northern king? It was years ago, Dany. Gods, how soft have you become? I suppose it’s my own fault. This is what I get for being so lenient on you.” 

Daenerys had to swallow her scoff at the idea of Viserys ever being lenient, but she had learned the hard way that standing up for herself never ever resulted in him changing. He just became crueller, hardening any soft parts of his heart that were left from their childhood. But she would not back down, not from this. She knew she’d never forgive herself if she ever let Viserys think she agreed with his abominable actions. She also knew the wrath of her brother and was greeted by it every time she had tried to stop him. He rarely told her his plans anymore, certainly not when they were brutal in nature. She was a nuisance to him, she remembered him screaming one time when she had unsuccessfully tried to stop him from attacking a ship full of refugees seeking aid in another kingdom. It was months before she was fully healed. After that point she never knew of the attacks until after they’d taken place. 

“Viserys,” she sighed weakly.

“What?” he snapped back.

“The land royalty may be our enemies but there were women on-board, some children too. You can’t ever expect me to be over that.”

“Sweet sister, why would I spare them? So they can return home and raise more brutes to come after us? Or are you just jealous,” he simpered, “that for once it was I who took a prince’s heart and not you.” 

“Roose gifted it to you, you did nothing. You’ve taken credit for another’s accomplishment, if that’s what you want to call that massacre, as you always do. Maybe you need to admit, brother, that you’ve been a coward ever since the Stark man almost killed you,” she spat at him, no longer caring for the consequences. “Imagine that, a drowning man, enchanted by your song, and still he almost ended your life. I thought we were superior Viserys, isn’t that what you always say? Perhaps it’s time to recognize that your song is weak, and you are weaker.” 

Viserys flew across the room and slapped her so hard with one of his tentacles her face burned. He had slapped her with his hands before he’d transformed. Those had stung plenty but it was nothing compared to the strength he wielded now. He used another tentacle to wrap her arms behind her back.

She turned her face up to glare at him and he did it again. And again. And again. So many times, her head grew fuzzy. Wrapping his fist in her hair, he dragged her behind him, throwing her face first into his pile of spoils. She could not slow her momentum, her face crashed into his stack of gold and blood poured from her. Whether her mouth or nose she couldn’t say, her face was completely numb from Viserys’ attention. 

“Let me make myself clear,” his spittle flew in her eye that was not already swollen shut. “I am your king and you will do as I say. The only reason you and your little friends have any freedom is because I allow it. The only reason I have not taken you as our ancestors used to is because you are sullied and not worth the time and affection I already give you. Do you understand?”

She tried to move her head but the pain only caused her to wince. He wrapped his hand in her hair again, pulling tight. “I said nod if you understand, Dany,” he said in a sing-song tone, violently nodding her head for her. “That’s good, because you have a job to do. Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done? You returned last night Dany and your friend had the heart of a king. But I hear he was not the only one to die. I hear nearly a whole ship of men went to their deaths, including their prince. Now, who took his heart?” He tugged harder. 

“I was hoping you would admit your betrayal to me, but no you seek only to insult me. You only had to wait a little while longer but no, you’ve become greedy. What will you become greedy for next, my throne perhaps?”

And there was the problem. Viserys used to be proud of her ruthlessness, he used to display her and use her accomplishments to boost his own name. But then Valyrian’s started to like her, boast of her, maybe even love her. And then he was longer proud. He no longer wanted to share glory, he wanted to hoard it all to himself. He was resentful and turned to others. Like Roose Bolton, a siren happy to forego any credit as long as he gets to do the killing.

“Listen to me, you ungrateful wench,” he tugged so hard she could feel him pull some of her hair out “you will do as I tell you. The mighty Unburnt.” He scoffs and spits on her face. “Well, let all Valyria see how mighty you really are. You will still present the customary heart on your birth day but I will have no prize from the Royal Bane. No, you will bring me the heart of some poor sailor whose worked himself to the bone his whole life. Some soiled creature with a withered, unworthy heart. That is all you deserve!”

“You think I will sit by while you make a fool of me. I have allowed you to live outside our rules because of the love I bear you as my sister, my blood but no more will you take advantage of my kindness. Do you understand me?” 

Too in pain to respond, she nods a little. That’s not good enough for Viserys. He pulls even harder, which she thought impossible. She feels like her scalp could be torn from her head if he pulls any harder. “I need to hear you say it, sister.”

He releases her but keeps one tentacle coiled around the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him. She nods manically now, trying to ignore the bile in her throat. She feels pathetic and small and will do anything, say anything to get away from her brother in this moment,

“Yes.”

“Good. Do this and I’ll forgive you, yet again, for the slights you’ve shown against m

e. For the disrespect you show your king by parading around with those lesser than us.”

She thinks it’s over. She’s agreed to what he wants so it must be over. She never does learn when it comes to him. Using the tentacle on the back of her neck, he throws her with all his might across the chamber straight into his piles of spoils. He leaves his own chambers. He leaves her there bleeding. She can’t contain her sobs any longer. 

Eventually she gathers the energy to go back to her chambers. Daenerys looked at the damage Viserys had done in the hand mirror, from her mother. It made her feel an odd mix of powerful and childlike whenever she held it. 

In her pain, she tried to recall the stories of her mother’s perseverance in the face of a violent man, how she had always loved so deeply and strongly. But it also made her long for someone to care for her, as she thought Rhaella would have, as Viserys used to. One of her eyes was almost completely swollen shut and she had bruises starting to form on her puffy cheekbones, as well as small gashes across her face from the treasure. Her scalp felt raw, but the damage was not so visible.

He sought to humiliate her, then. Viserys could never stand the idea of any siren in the sea loving Daenerys more than him. This was a way to fix that problem. Show all of Valyria that she was no more special than any siren and let the word spread even farther. Show them that he was still their only and best option for ruler, something she had never tried to steal from him. She remembered what he told her years ago, when she had started showing her skill for hunting. 

“I need you to bleed fear into the hearts of men. I need you to remind them who their superiors are. I need you to make the humans so frightened to even set foot on their ships, in fear of coming across the Royal Bane.” He’d encouraged her, used the name the humans had coined for her after a ruthless summer for their kind. 

Now he would have her be another of his toys. No doubt when she returned with a sailor’s heart, he would tell everyone she had sought to find a royal and failed. And no doubt she would go along with the charade, in fear for her own safety and her friend’s. He would eventually use them as leverage, she knew. But she didn’t know how to keep that from happening.

Not wanting to sit and stew in her thoughts any longer she swam to the outskirts of Valyria. She would have said goodbye to Missandei and Grey Worm but she didn’t want them to see her like this. Battered and bruised, not the person they knew at all.

She swims west from the city, thinking of what to do about Viserys demands. She can’t kill some poor innocent sailor, even if they are human. She’ll have to get close to the shore somewhere and hope she lucks out and overhears some sordid details she can use to her own advantage. Viserys won’t be able to tell if the sailor was a terrible person even with all his power. As long as he’s a sailor and as long as she’s subtle, she should be able to get away with it.

She’s miles away from Valyria when she spots him. In the distance, almost out of her sightline is Roose Bolton. Her instincts scream at her to follow him, he’s a terror to all species. But she doesn’t wish to get into trouble with Viserys, any more than she is. 

But what are the consequences if she ignores her instincts? He could commit another atrocity. She has no love for humans, but she doesn’t wish for innocents to die. Besides, whenever a human massacre occurs, they strike back in kind. How many sirens will suffer in return? She has little love for her own kind, to be honest. But again, those who are deserving of violence are rarely the ones who get it.

She should ignore Roose and go about her task.

But the ocean is large, surely there will be sailors wherever he’s going. Daenerys debates with herself for another minute. Ultimately, she knows there are things she can forgive herself for and those she cannot.

She follows.

~

Jon couldn’t believe that the wildlings were happier to set foot on Northern land than he was. They had been enemies of each other for centuries, but they jumped and whooped as they walked across the dock. While he tried very hard not to let his reluctance and displeasure to be home play across his face. Although by the looks Davos and Arya keep cutting him, he’s not doing a very good job. Getting out of the rowboat, he looks mournfully back at his treasure. _Ghost_, the large ship, painted a grey-ish blue so it blends into the waters on misty days. At its helm, a white wolf head. The wolf is a Stark sigil, but he changed the design for his sails. He may be the King in the North, but he would not beg for their allegiance but at sea he was just Jon Snow. On Ghost, he need not plead for people’s allegiance, try and spin words so they forget that he is, by their laws, beneath him. A white wolf on a grey sail. He’s always been out of place but now he wears it as a point of pride.

He has friends, family on his crew but still he remains slightly out of step with them. They respect him, love him even, but he is a solitary person. Since he was a boy, he has learned not to rely too much on any person.

His lords have arrived at Winterfell for the feast they throw in his honour every time he returns home. He can’t help but feel that the feast is an early celebration as they know he will soon be leaving again.

In the courtyard at Winterfell, Rickon runs at him, holding onto his waist for dear life. Picking him up, he hugs his baby brother fiercely. He greets Bran and Sansa warmly, giving them both a hug and kiss on the forehead. 

Then he moves to Lady Catelyn. She graciously allows him to peck her on the cheek. He’s not sure why they continue with the pretence. It’s not as if there is a man on land or siren at sea that does not know the depths of her resentment towards him. He might be being over-dramatic, but as she coolly stalks away with him, visibly containing her sneer, he thinks he probably isn’t.

He gets a decent sleep on a bed that isn’t constantly rocking. He thought that the first time he came back home after a long voyage he wouldn’t be able to sleep, his body too adjusted to the motions of the ship. Instead he finds it a great novelty. Perhaps it is the weight of responsibility easing off him. An odd thing for a king to think as he returns to his kingdom. At sea, he is the captain and is revered by his crew. Here, in the North, he is the bastard king that is tolerated for a week or two at a time, four or five times a year.

That’s not to say he isn’t anxious. He dreads having to spend time with these people. But if he fucks everything up, they have a more than capable council to rule in his stead, as they’re already doing with his input through letters. He’s not entirely sure why he hasn’t been deposed yet. He can only imagine it’s to keep up appearances. The council may do good work but what is a kingdom without a king? It would invite too much attention to pirates, marauders, other kingdoms who wouldn’t wish to trade with a province without a defined leader. 

Dorne is the only other kingdom on this side of the world who wouldn’t be bothered by it. They are ruled by a queen, Elia. She wasn’t even the eldest child, their people decided that she would be the best to rule them. She’s never married but has several children who are, by all accounts, respected. And she has the close counsel of her brothers, who do not disrespect or disregard her. It’s a novel concept to Jon.

Still, he’s not sure how the council would be at making deals with Dorne. For all their smarts, they are decidedly more…_traditional. _

The feast takes place in Winterfell’s main hall. The stone walls trap in the heat from a huge hearth at one end of the room. The night is for eating, drinking, dancing, and for some he’s sure, fucking. How many poor kitchen girls are going to be swelling soon, all because of some high lord’s pretty words? His moneys on three. 

Catelyn studiously ignores him, which is a blessing. The sting that used to accompany her coldness is gone now, for the most part. He’s soon too much violence and cruelty to let his old wounds fester. Rickon is a riot, bouncing around the room, dancing with any woman in the room and charming them with his childish glee. But when everyone starts getting in their drinks, a septa takes him and Bran, quiet and watchful as always, to their chambers. 

Arya and Gendry swing around the room, dancing terribly, while lords and ladies watch them distastefully. Whatever insecurities his little sister used to have about not being a ‘proper lady’ are long gone now. He thinks it’s a combination of being older and wiser and being out at sea with a crew who respects her as she is. She is not constantly compared to Sansa, who was raised to be a lady, she can just be Arya. He also thinks that falling in love with a good man who has as little prejudice as she has been wonderful for her. He wouldn’t tell her that though, not unless he wanted a smack. 

Sansa works the room with grace, her spine like steel. While he drifts through the room, he hears snippet of her conversations with his vassals. It’s clear they admire her wits; she always says the right words without ever revealing anything. He doesn’t begrudge her for it, he often has to find a way to use trickery in conversation to get what he wants. He used to do it often while serving with The Watch, and occasionally he still has to, when making trades for tips about where best to hunt sirens and buying weapons that will help him do so. But it’s an old skill he finds distasteful. He’s always been a little bit cunning and used it to great advantage even when he was a naïve boy, in over his head. But then they lost Robb and Talisa, not so long after losing father. All the vigour he got after outwitting someone, that burst of pride in his chest, it’s dead now. If it comes at all, it barely lasts.

He used to get so angry that he felt he would shiver and split if he didn’t let it out. So, he did. Sometimes in hard blows when sparring, as if his comrade or brother was a true enemy. Sometimes by leaping at someone in the heat of the moment, losing his temper and often landing himself in trouble. Sometimes by harsh words that were sometimes deserved, and sometimes not. But now, there’s an emptiness to him. His only respite from it, is the animosity he feels towards vicious sea-creatures, and petty lords. His rage doesn’t burst from him as it used to, it simmers deep inside him. Usually it dissipates when he hunts. Here, at Winterfell, he feels his irritation wiped out by vacantness, sometimes between short conversations. His frustration rolls through him like fog over the horizon, it’s there and gone before he knows it. He wishes he could hold onto it, at least that way he’s feeling something. Sometimes Jon feels he’s become a man of malevolence. He fears it, he wants to be a good man. But the world is not kind to good men, so he pushes aside any doubt, any worries. And the empty void welcomes him once again.

“I never knew you could look like that,” Arya says to him, breathless from dancing and dragging Gendry behind her.

“Like what?”

“So clean.”

“Handsome,” Gendry chimes in. Arya rolls her eyes.

“You’ve already wooed a Stark into your bed, no need to try for another.”

They start bickering, as they usually do and Jon is forgotten. He often thinks they are better at insulting each other than showing affection, but he knows there is deep love there. He would have thrown Gendry overboard if Arya’s feelings were unrequited. He ignores the dull pang at his sister calling him a Stark. It used to be all he wanted. But now, as with most things, he feels the absence of feeling more keenly than any emotion.

Everyone is in their cups, so he tries to slip away, having done his kingly duty for the night.

“King Jon, the siren hunter, leaving his own feast so soon?” 

He turns around at the great hall doors to speak with an approaching Sansa.

“Everyone seems to be having a fine time and I could do with some rest. No doubt the mood will be much less friendly tomorrow.”

“Which is exactly why you should stay. They won’t be smiling at you for much longer.” He supposes she’s right.

“Fine, another half hour, then I’m going to rest.” 

Sansa looks at him for a moment, studying his face. “There’s something wrong. What is it?”

Where does he start? He feels weighed down by an invisible threat, not to speak of the very real threats he hunts for most of the year. He doesn’t understand his purpose except killing. He knows that his sister cares for him but were the lords less sexist she would see him gone as king in a moment. He trusts so few people fully. He’s so vastly lonely but his isolation has become a comfort to him.

“I’m just tired, that’s all.” He gives Sansa a small smile, hoping to appease her.

He’d always been much closer to Arya and Robb but in her adulthood, Sansa had grown less like her mother in regard to how she treated him. She would always listen to what he had to say, even if she disagreed with it. He would never share with her how it feels to be a killer. He would never share that with anyone. 

He finds himself telling tales of siren hunting and how he got certain scars from especially vicious ones. His men laugh and lean forward, and Jon feels an odd sense of camaraderie. But it only lasts a moment before he remembers how they’ll be disregarding him tomorrow. 

He speaks with Lord Manderly and his granddaughter. Lord Manderly is obviously trying to hint at a union between families and Jon is trying, as politely as he can manage, to make it clear that will never happen. He’s about to make a less than subtle run for it when Lord Manderly says something interesting.

“Terrible about the Tarly’s isn’t it?”

“The Tarly’s? From the Reach, you mean?”

“Yes, yes. You didn’t hear what happened? I suppose you wouldn’t have, we only heard of it a scant few days before your arrival.”

“What happened?” That feeling of dread enveloped him.

“King Randyll and Prince Dickon were murdered by the Royal Bane.” And the dread dropped to the bottom of his stomach. 

“How do you know this?”

“Well, it seems he was bringing back new workers for his land and the sea-demons swarmed them. All the workers lived, so I hear, but only a scant few from his own household. Peasant workers, loyal to him. The workers took the ship to Dorne and the surviving boys fled.”

Jon wished he would get to the point, but rudeness wouldn’t serve him here. He needed to hear the gruesome details. He needed it to fuel him. 

“The stories go that the purple eyed bitch and another with black curly hair enchanted them right off the ship before anyone noticed. Then, next thing they knew, the workers were killing and throwing the crew overboard. Men and women being taken to a new life, being offered a way to make means and they betray him!” He blustered, going red in the face. “There’s no loyalty anymore I tell you! Not in those other kingdoms, here in the North it’s a different story. We look after one another.”

Jon could sense where this conversation was going so he tried to pivot the lord back in the right direction. “Did the Royal Bane kill them both? Do we know?”

“Only rumours from men who were running to them just before they went over. They say the Royal Bane was after Dickon but after they went under, who knows what happened.”

“Has anyone heard from Sam Tarly?”

“The fat boy you served with in the Night’s Watch? No, I don’t think so. Probably still in his shack with that wildling of his.” Jon ignored the jab. He felt so sad for his friend. They didn’t see each other much, their lives going in different directions, but he missed him deeply in that moment. Sam had told Jon of his father’s abuses, but he always got along with Dickon, never had a bad word to say about him.

Jon felt a welcome bout of rage and excused himself to his chambers for the night.

He tried to sleep but couldn’t. He finally had energy running through his veins, he was not about to let go of it. He sent a raven to Sam, offering condolences and asking if he’d like to come to Winterfell. He ate breakfast with his crew, barely speaking a word, too lost in his thoughts.

When it came time for the late morning meeting, his lords grumpy and hungover, he decided it was time for them to see the other side to him. The man who was the most accomplished hunter of sirens alive. He relayed what happened to the Tarly’s, and the lords joined in with other details they’d heard, vicious and vile details of the assault. Many contradicted each other and he doubted most of what they’d said was true. But one thing was true, this Mad Queen of the Sea, as some called her, was a threat like no other. She was active, unlike the one that was truly believed to be their kind’s ruler. From what he could gleam, she had a specialty in attacking rulers, kings, queens, princes and the like. Those deaths usually occurred around the same time of year he’d noticed. But this year she was early. That couldn’t be a good sign. She was efficient, none could describe her clearly. She was seen enough to gain credit and create a myth surrounding her power, but not so often as to threaten that power. 

Maybe it was their plan to destabilize kingdoms, so the humans could all kill each other, and the sirens could return to the land and rule over all the earth. He told his vassals as much and watched the outrage pour from them. They all yelled over each other, disgusted at the notion and Jon knew he had them. 

After returning to his chambers the night before, his annoyance at his own men reached new heights. They’d loved his tales of seafaring and killing, had lapped them up. But with the clarity his anger had given him, he could only think of the coming meeting. He knew there would be disdain, veiled threats they would never act on, that they would question every word out of his mouth. He couldn’t stand it, he wanted to be back on Ghost, searching for the Royal Bane. To put an end to her and her kind, once and for all. At least that way he’d be doing something useful. 

He had wished to be a king as a boy, and a knight, a hero for the ages. He even admired the tales of Aemon the Siren Knight. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, the siren decided to live on land and only occasionally return to the sea. He was respected by the high born and low born alike. Noble and brave, he’d been knighted by a human king. The tale was so large and unbelievable, his younger self had been obsessed. _Of course he had,_ it was a story of the ultimate outside coming to be beloved by those who had rights to fear or hate him. But now his boyish dreams felt as stable as dust to him. He had no desire to live in a kingdom where pampered lords are catered to and their pettiness coddled as their due right. How did he earn the respect it would take to change that? Was it even possible? There was only one way to find out.

Back in the hall, Jon let his voice rise louder than all the rest. Louder than he’d ever spoken to them.

“There’s only one way to make our world safe again. That is to eradicate the species which seeks to destroy us. It’s us or them, it’s that simple. We’re hunting, more than ever, but they’re still killing us at such a rate that we might as well be leaving them alone. I swear, that with your support, I will kill the Royal Bane. She who is a threat to any highborn who sets foot on a ship.” 

Any whispering or murmurs stopped. He had their full attention. He knew that line would get them. Anyone with any real knowledge knew that her victims, aside from the annual royal, had little pattern to them. But he was dealing with lords, he knew the words to draw them in.

“We have relied on simple tactics for too long. It’s time to pull together any resources we have. I want you to write to whoever you think may be of use, ask your small folk, search your libraries, look for anything that might be useful in this fight. Make no mistake, my lords, if we don’t find a way to stop them there is no telling what kind of damage, they will do to us. Damage that will generations to repair, if it even can be repaired. If you swear to help me, I swear that I will do this for you, for the North, for all of us!”

With that, they jumped to their feet, each pulling their sword and booming, “I swear!”

“King Jon! The one to save us all!” Lord Glover called.

That was intriguing, the man was one of Jon’s biggest critics. He could scarcely breathe without the man questioning his right to do so. The other started echoing him. They seemed prideful and he contained his shiver.

_The one to save us all._

If only they knew what it took from him. His purpose in life, was degrading what little was left of his soul, but he couldn’t regret it. Not if it kept people safe. 

If only they knew how he heard the awful, sickening screeches sirens made when they died as he tried to fall asleep many nights. If they saw the corpses dissolve into nothingness. They liked the idea of their king being the one to end a threat, but they would they be so boastful if they saw his true face. The face that barely blinked as he murdered countless creatures. 

Monsters they may be, but as the saying goes if you hunt monsters long enough you become one. 

He considered his men stoically. He had nothing else to say to them. He could hardly express his exasperation with their very existence when he’d just gotten them on side. He couldn’t express his vexation with their loyalties which turned with tide. He had them on side for now, that would have to do. 

He says nothing, and raises his own sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you notice the insane sexual tension when jon kissed sansa & bran on the forehead? ot3 am i right
> 
> anyway, i didn't know how to include elia but wanted her to be doing great, living life, getting shit done etc so she's queen of Dorne & living her best life
> 
> edited note: look i don’t know how sirens have sex okay? and i did not want to spend mental energy trying to figure out the machinations or siren fucking dkdkfkf so just know that dany’s been getting some.
> 
> something quite interesting coming next chapter wink wink
> 
> love hearing from you, so drop a comment if you want
> 
> ramreads1 on twitter


	4. i gave myself over willingly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i forgot to put in the unburnt backstory/how she met grey worm last chapter so here it is, not at all awkwardly shoe horned in at last minute
> 
> 2\. take a drink every time i say 'magic' and you might die!
> 
> 3\. something actually happens this chapter, happy reading!

Jon entered _The Red Witch_ with some of his crew. The tavern was dark and gloomy and had far too much mahogany for his taste. The windows were high on the walls, tiny rectangles with painted glass. There were several hearths, some might say too many, dotted around, the only source of light. Jon didn’t mind the darkness; he took meetings here often when he was in the North. He knew the right seats to take so he had a much better view of whoever he was meeting with, than they had of him. He liked that others could not see his face, it was easier to win a conversation that way. 

The barmaids were all styled after the owner herself. Long red dresses and long hair of blonde, brown, black or red. This wasn’t the usual tavern where men would flirt with a pretty barmaid and toss them an extra coin when they went home to their true lives with wives and children and responsibilities. 

At The Red Witch men would toss two extra coins just to get the barmaids to look them in the eye. Their mystery was the draw. For most anyway. Jon just liked the ale, and occasionally the atmosphere. Men were always on the edge of a fight in here, on the precipice of violence. But whoever pushed over the line got promptly put back in place by Melisandre, the enigmatic owner. He enjoyed the buzz of energy in the air before she stepped in. It was the feeling he got when killing sirens, that brief moment before the doubt followed by illness, followed by emptiness returned.

Despite its oddities, The Red Witch was never quiet. There were plenty taverns near Winterfell, all filled with drunk old men, wanting to forget their long dreary lives, and drunk young men, wanting to find a girl for a night, who would help kickstart an adventure. The adventure usually ended up being a quickly arranged marriage and settling for a job working at the docks. All to say, the taverns were all the same, but none had a gimmick. This one was gimmicks from top to bottom.

He walked up to where he regularly sat, currently filled by a frankly hideous looking man of forty…or sixty, he could not tell. He resisted the urge to grimace, he was a king after all and only looked at the man pointedly until he moved. He was too in his cups to recognize his own king. Jon could hardly blame him for that, he wasn’t around to take meetings in the great hall very often. 

But he did make time for some stranger he knew nothing about who had told Melisandre, who had told Davos, who had told him that he had very important information with regards to his siren hunt. No wonder so many of his lords disliked him. 

Arya, Gendry, Davos and Tormund joined him around the table, leaving one space empty for their mystery guest.

The man arrived not long after. He was older, with grey hair that went to his ears. He wore a thick black cloak that clouded his gaunt figure. He was hardly pleasant to look at, but better than the man seated here before. Sitting down he said nothing but had a slight smirk on his face. Like he was aware of some joke that no one else was. Jon was annoyed already.

“I hear you have information that may help our king kill the Royal Bane,” Davos starts, genially.

“I have information that will help your king keep the lofty promises he made. The ones he has no idea how to keep.” 

Jon did nothing but stare at the man. Davos, ever the diplomat, tried to keep the tone friendly. “If so, that’s wonderful. What is your name, friend?”

“Qyburn, my good Ser.”

“Well Qyburn, we’d be very appreciative if you’d help us out.”

“There’s only one thing that can save us from them, one thing that will stop the never-ending battle. The Siren Horn.”

Silence. It weighed heavy for a moment or two before Davos spoke up again. “The Siren Horn?”

“That’s just stories,” Gendry chimed in.

“What do you do, blow in it?” Tormund chortled.

“I can’t believe I came all the way here for this,” Arya rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a long walk, love,” Gendry responded. With that they dissolved into bickering. Tormund continued to make debauched comments, mostly to himself. Davos smiled awkwardly at the man. 

Jon cut a glance over to the bar where Melisandre had come out. He jerked his head to the side, and she picked up on his meaning. Her barmaids started escorting everyone except from his crew out. 

The tavern falls silent as everyone leaves, barmaids included, being waved away by Melisandre who then departs to her back office. He's going to have to pay up for any lost business and he has no doubt she’s spying on them, but he doesn’t mind. He has information of his own. 

Melisandre and Qyburn would get along, now that he thought about it. Even in the short time he’d been around Qyburn, he knew they both had the infuriating ability to make you feel like you were missing something obvious. They also had the ability to make his skin crawl. At least Qyburn hadn’t tried to jump in his bed yet. Melisandre had tried not long after meeting him for the first time. He’s sure to many she’s a beautiful woman but all Jon could see was an eerie sense that followed her. They had an alliance, but he’d be a fool to trust the woman. Everything about her screamed red and terrible. 

He lets the silence fall awkward, takes out his compass and flips the lid. The compass that his father gave him as a young man. Since his father died, Jon is the only soul alive who knows its true secret. This compass is two sided, one that as normal points the way. On the inside of the lid, however, is a much simpler design, with only two cardinal points, North and South. North for truth, South for a lie and a rest in between for words that may be either. 

His father had gifted it to him before he left for The Watch. Jon opened the compass and asked Ned one thing, “Will you tell me about my mother?” Ned had sighed and wavered, the compass was stagnant between North and South, truth and lie. “I’ll tell you about her when you return, I promise.” He’d wanted to ask more but decided against it. He had waited so many years for the truth, what was a little while longer? His father had died before they could continue their conversation. 

At his father’s funeral he had taken out the compass and asked Lady Catelyn if she knew who his mother was. She had screamed herself hoarse at him, throwing out every insult she’d ever called him and then some. But she had been telling the truth, she had no idea who his mother was. 

He’d held some resentment for Ned. Why had he pushed the conversation off for so long? Jon was always more willing to deal with an ugly truth than a convenient lie, but he’d grown older since then. He’d become a king. Perhaps there was still a sliver of resentment, but he understood now. Truth isn’t always an option. 

It still bemused him that his father, very Northern in his views on magic would give him a compass like that. On darker days, he wondered if his father trusted him to do right in the world, to be a good man. That maybe he gave it to him because his faith was lacking. On the darkest days, when he sequesters himself alone in his cabin, only coming out to shout orders, never actually conversing with anyone, he sits and speaks aloud to the compass. It’s never worked for his own statements, always staying still at whatever it’s last point was. For hours, he’d speak to it. “I’m not a good man,” or “Father would be disappointed”. Sometimes statements from an even darker part of his soul, words he tries not to think about, “I should give up now,” and “I’ll never find peace.” His crew thought he just had a nervous habit of looking at his compass, a tic when he was thinking of his father. _Little did they know. _

Shaking off his dark thoughts and with compass in hand, he stared at Qyburn. “Repeat yourself.”

The man said what he’d said before, that a siren horn was the only chance to save them all. The compass pointed North. The man at least believed this was the truth. 

“Tell me everything you know about this horn and why you think it’s our only hope.” There was no inflection in his voice whatsoever, he was both a king and captain in this moment, and he was demanding answers.

“Many years ago, I worked at the Citadel –“

“You don’t wear any chains though,” Davos interrupted

“Yes, I…well myself and the other maesters often disagreed on what was ethical or necessary for learning.”

“You mean you broke the rules?” Gendry asked.

“I broke what they deemed important precedents but to me, a student of all things, they were naught but stifling parameters.”

“What a nice way of saying you fucked up,” Arya interjected.

Sighing, Jon moves his hand in an impatient gesture, “you were at the Citadel?”

“Yes, for many years. I learnt a great deal there. One of the great lessons I learnt was how little of the knowledge the maester’s have gained they are willing to share. One day I found an old book that recalled the tale of the Siren Horns. One taken by the humans, one by the sirens. The latter is assumed to be destroyed or long lost to them. If it was still around, they would have killed us all already. But the former, well the humans took it to the farthest point from the sea they could think of. A land few survive. The Shadow Mountain. Humans from all kingdoms worked together to procure this item in one of the old wars. There are legends that say the magic it took to procure this item is why magic has been steadily dying out ever since. 

We have a fair amount of siren hunting gear that would argue otherwise

“I’m not talking about some enchanted nets; I mean real magic. Magic that allowed sirens to walk onto land from sea as if it was nothing. If that were still possible, we’d be long gone by now. Can you imagine magic like that? The Siren Horn can be used to kill the King of Valyria!” At that any tittering from the others stopped. The compass stayed steady on North. 

Qyburn steadies himself for a moment, taking a deep breath. “There were those on both sides who wished for the killing to end, so they each gave the other a weapon that could destroy the other. If either crossed into the others territory, then they would be fair game. It was a bargain for peace. The Siren Horn was hidden for the day when humans could no longer honour the bargain. I believe from what I’ve heard of you, your grace, that the day has come.”

Arya, Gendry and Tormund had continued tittering while Qyburn talked, albeit more nervously than before. Davos and he shared a look.

“It said that in this old book you found?”

“It did. The King of Valyria throughout the ages has always possessed a great deal of power. More power than any human or siren, even in the old times of peace have been able to comprehend. There is of course the one we think to have been called Rhaegar,” Jon and Arya share a quick, solemn look. That siren king was the one who killed their Aunt Lyanna. Both of them remembering how withdrawn their usually present father would become at a mention of her name. 

“He was defeated far more easily than he should have been by King Robert of Storm’s End,” Gendry blanched at the mention of his late father, before a shot of anger flashed across his face. Everybody knew he had no love lost for his father. Out the corner of his eye Jon saw Arya grip his hand on his knee. “He wasn’t tentacled as has been documented of other Kings of Valyria in the past. Not like the one currently ruling. If there is knowledge out there about how this change works and what exactly their magic entails, it has been lost to time or the Citadel keeps it contained. I was already nearing the end of my tenure-“

“Firing,” Arya cuts in.

Ignoring that he continues, “when I found the book. I tried to bring it up with other maesters, more senior than I, but the conversation was shut down. After that, my access to the archives was restricted. When they found out about my more unique experiments, I was let go from the order.”

“So, all we have to go one is one book?” Tormund asks, looking confused as ever.

“One book that the maesters were keen to ignore,” Davos adds, thinking through what they’ve heard, “even if it were nonsense, you’d think it would at least warrant a conversation. A couple jokes if you maester-ly type do that. But to shut down any queries, that’s another thing. A far more suspicious thing. Lad, it might be worth checking out.”

“You want us to sail all the way to Asshai and climb a mountain that is so shrouded in mist, literally, that no one knows anything about what lies beyond, on a hunch?” Gendry asks, bewildered.

“I want us to think it through before we dismiss it as nothing.”

“It might just be a story, Davos.”

“Stories don’t lie,” Qyburn chimes in.

“They lie all the time. Tales of heroes and legends who were nothing but losers. Whoever wins gets to write the history of what happened. Who knows what those old families who worked together to defeat the sirens did? Maybe they massacred as many innocent sirens as innocent humans were killed, maybe more. What if this story is just another lie to cover over the ugly truth of what they’d do to win?”

The table was silent at Gendry’s outburst.

“Is there such a thing as an innocent siren?” Tormund asked quietly. No one answered. But Jon caught Arya and Gendry sharing a quick glance.

Both Gendry and Davos had good points. They couldn’t go traipsing to the other side of the world on a word from a stranger, even if the compass indicated he was telling the truth, but nor could they ignore what could possibly change the history of the world, could make the seas safe again. So, they could kill, or at least weaken the Siren King? He needed more information before they put everyone’s lives at stake.

His mind was calculating. In the event of Qyburn telling the truth, he and his crew would have to undertake the most dangerous mission yet. All he knew of the Shadow Mountain was that it was in kingdom of Asshai, a place itself shrouded in secrecy. He’d never cared to unravel those secrets before, had never had a reason to. He and his crew never sail that far east. But what little he has heard? It’s a very dangerous place to be. 

He can’t make the decision today, sitting in a tavern with little to go on, but he needs to make plans in event of it being the truth.

“And what do you gain out of this? And please, don’t say something about keeping the world safe. I’d wager you’ve been out of the Citadel for quite a while, so why tell us now?” 

“If you succeed, the North will become the most influential kingdom in the known world. I would hope that with all that influence you could help me continue my experiments.  
I was expelled from the Citadel for my unconventional way of going about things but I gained much information there. I could be an asset to your kingdom.”

“Or a hindrance.”

“Or that, but few will doubt your decisions if you save the world from sirens."

Jon smirked at that. Everybody always wanted something. Yes, if this ridiculous, half-baked plan works, he surely will have far fewer childish lords and ladies to deal with, less trouble negotiating with foreign kingdoms. Of course, in exchange he’ll be selling yet another little piece of his soul and integrity by allowing a clearly unethical man to work amongst his people. But that bridge could be crossed at a later time. 

"I also have many inventions I'd be willing to lend you if you decide to undergo this journey," he continued, looking almost gleeful. Jon shuddered to think what kind of inventions this man could come up with, but filed the offer away.

“I need to look more into this. I don’t know you well enough to risk my crew’s lives on a short conversation, but should your information work out,” he sticks out his hand, “you have a deal.”

A slow, creepy smile crosses Qyburn’s face. Jon doesn’t even try and suppress his grimace when he feels the other man’s clammy hand in his.

One of the things Jon had always loved about Winterfell was its grand library. He’d been stuck in the library for days, searching for information, and was beginning to grow sick of his former favourite place. He’s sitting in his favoured green highback leather chair and has pulled over an oak side-table, stacked with books. His heart hurts a little when he recalls sitting on this same chair as a boy, his legs dangling off the edge with a brightly coloured book of heroes sat on his lap. 

He was a lonely child, despite his love for his siblings. He’s always felt that weight, like something was missing. While it wasn’t a huge library as a lad it felt massive, like his own private playhouse. So, he’d come to the library, where very few in the castle wandered, and got lost in the stories he read, playing pirate and prince and even siren. If Catelyn was especially cruel, he would come and read fairy tales of lost little boys growing to be heroes, beloved by all. He was a little too old for those now. He was a hero to many, and many still didn’t care for him.

So far, he’s found out more about the Shadow Mountain. Gendry wasn’t wrong to be sceptical. In Asshai, north of the capital city of the same name, lies an abandoned city Stygai, he’d heard a fair few ghost stories about the place. Further north of there is the Shadow Mountain. 

Completely untraversable to outsiders, the only people to make it to the peak and return are the royal family of Asshai. It is a rumoured rite of passage that whenever an Asshai royal comes of age, they make a pilgrimage to the top to prove their worthiness, apparently none have ever failed. They also believe they descend from an old god R’hllor, so he isn’t sure how much to believe what is said of them. 

Whoever made the journey to place the Siren Horn was either an Asshai royal or used a lot of magic of their own. Or Qyburn had been full of shit. But Jon didn’t think so, at least not where the horn was concerned. The old man was clearly off somehow.

He’d found as many old tomes as he could that even mention the mountain and discovered that the mountain’s weather was unpredictable and unbelievable. It was said to be shrouded in mist, as Gendry said, and the weather went from blisteringly hot to freezing cold, even colder than the Lands of Always Winter in his own kingdom. Basically, it was the deadliest place on land…and also the tallest mountain known to man. 

The Asshai were still mortal like any human, how was it that they could pass when all else failed? There was more to it than what he could read in books. As there was more Qyburn’s theory. Qyburn was so sure of his story, and Jon so sure of his compass. He had no doubt the siren horn was out there…what it could do, though, he had questions about.

Defeating the Sea King could not be as easy as locating one magical siren horn. It couldn’t be. He didn’t doubt an ancient object like it could behold enchanting properties, maybe it could weaken him, or take away some of their powers. But no matter how much humans and sirens wanted peace all those years ago, they would never give one another such simple solutions to the other’s destruction. They would however bargain with losing a little power. He hoped Qyburn was right and the other horn was lost, and it was true that sirens were more vicious than humans, who were not exactly cuddly. If they had the key to infiltrating the human world, they would have used it. But Jon never acted on optimism. 

There had to be some record of it, aside from a dusty old book at the Citadel he’d never gain access to. He shook his head at himself. Here he was, so many years later, still playing at fairy tales.

Tired of going round and round his head with the same old arguments, he leaned back and his chair, trying to quiet his mind and drifted off. 

“Arya told me I’d find you here.”

Jon jolted awake to see Sansa standing at the other side of the table. Some lanterns had been lit and through the large windows, looking out over the bay, the sun was setting. He hadn’t had such a restful sleep in a while, though his neck and back were killing him now. He groans and cracks his neck while Sansa peruses the many books on Asshai he has sprawled across the desk.

“I see you’ve sequestered yourself away,” she raises an eyebrow at him.

“The lords and ladies have gone home, its not like I have to play court anymore.” 

“Yes, you sent them away rather quickly.”

“I sent them away to dig through their own libraries, talk to their own people and try and find any slice of information that might be useful,” he sighs heavily, far too tired to be having this conversation.

“That is convenient. Is that also why you haven’t read a single of the letters they’ve sent you,” she darts her eyes to the pile of scrolls on the other side table, with a smirk on her face.

He’d forgotten about those. “Fair enough,” he huffs a laugh, as much admittance as he’s going to give her.

“_The Legends of Asshai and Other Tales from the Shadow Lands_,” she says reading the cover. “So, you’re actively trying to die, then?”

“I was just researching something.”

“Researching what?” He doesn’t reply and her mouth tightens. “Do you trust me so little?”

“I trust few people Sansa, it’s nothing personal.” Realising how harsh that sounded, he tries to change track, “I…I have a lead on where we might be able to find something useful. It’s probably nothing, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“It’s the council’s job to worry when the king is so reckless,” she rolls her eyes.

"Aye, fine, you’re right, it’s reckless. But how many more people have to die, Sansa? Every day it feels like there are new stories about another massacre. They happen so much more often. Not just one or two people, but whole ships full. Sam’s family have to be avenged, even if his father was a prick, he was still his father. He was still a king just going about his business, they said he was bringing people over to give them work and he got murdered for it,” he cuts himself off, realising he’d been yelling. Silence cuts through him, all he can hear is the crackle of flames, burning in the lanterns.

“It’s not just about Sam’s family though is it? The Royal Bane didn’t kill father or Robb, but she might kill you if you go searching for her.”

Embarrassed by his anger, he tries for as gentle a tone as he can manage. “Aye, our family has to be avenged. Someone has to stop it and no one else wants to, so I have to. It might not have been the Royal Bane, but by all accounts that we have, we can be pretty certain it was their king. If I can’t get him, they maybe I can get they’re kinds greatest weapon and if I have the opportunity to get them both, to get them all? I have to take that. I’m not trying to die, I just…can’t live with doing nothing. _I have to try._”

She stays silent for a moment, taking in what he’s said. “I know it’s hard for you being here and I know I haven’t always helped with that. But you are my brother, before you’re my king, and I worry that you’re getting lost in legends. The King of the Land who killed the King of the Sea, it’s a nice story but it’s a myth and you can’t live in it. Whether your vassals care for you or not, you aren’t indispensable. I know you think you are but if that were true, they would have dispensed of you the first time you set sail and Bran or even I would rule the North, but we don’t.” He saw a shadow of some unknown emotion flicker across her face. “We need a king who is here. Say you achieve what you want, then what? How will you cope then? We may not be as close as you and Arya or as you and Robb were but I’m not blind. What will Arya do when she has to come back here? She’s already so unused to everything, she’ll feel more trapped here than you. Will she and Gendry just go off travelling together?” Her voice has risen in pitch and Jon sees beneath the veneer her childhood anxieties. She just wants her family back together, what’s left of it anyway. Her cheeks redden at her clearly unintentional burst of emotion. Taking a deep breath, she straightens and taps a finger on the cover of the book. “If you only pay attention to fairy tales that’s all you’ll become, and the North deserves more than that.” 

She walks out and leaves him to think about that. Does the North deserve more? Would it be a tragedy or a fitting end for him to become a story children tell to each other? The white wolf who slayed the monsters of the deep.

Sansa told him to stop living in fairy tales. Arya, Gendry, Davos, Tormund and even himself had seemed sceptical of Qyburn’s words, because it sounded like a story. They’d all heard different variations on it, a magic sword that will turn all sirens to stone or gauntlet that holds siren blood which once drunk will destroy their kind but curse the drinker to eternal solitude in the sea. Nothing believable and nothing true. He vaguely remembers hearing something about a horn as a boy, but like many tales, he’d forgotten it over time. It wasn’t one of the more interesting ones, as far as younger him was concerned. 

But all this thinking of fairy tales had revealed a truth he’d been ignoring. He was never going to find his answers in history retellings and dry textbooks. He unfolded his weary bones from his favourite chair and headed to the children’s section.

~~~

It wasn’t hard to track Roose. She never got too close, always kept him so he was almost out of her sight. On the occasion she did lose sight of him it was easy to find him again; she was an exceptionally fast swimmer, so he never got too far from her. 

She believes they’re in the waters near the Northern kingdom. She’s not positive as she has never explored the ocean here, it’s too cold for her. She runs hotter than most sirens. 

She’d go above and look for herself, but they were too close for it not to be a danger, she kept close to the seabed where the many anchors of docked ships were. 

Gods, how she hates the water here. It’s murky and unpleasant, and although she can’t smell down here, she knows that it would reek.

For days nothing happened. She knew Roose had gone further inland to an underwater cove on a cliff face, but she didn’t want to wait to close to him and reveal herself. She’d make trips around the edges of the harbour as many times a day she dared, to see if Roose had made any movement but for days there was nothing. She was growing bored, wondering why she had bothered to follow him. Maybe he was a voyeur, one of those sirens obsessed with the humans, wishing to be one. She didn’t know if she believed he longed for legs, but it wasn’t hard to believe he was creepy.

With nothing to do but think, she can’t help going through the cycle in her mind of her and Viserys’ relationship. How they used to treasure each other, how they were best friends. How his love slowly turned sour. How she knew without a doubt he resented her gifts. 

She couldn’t help but miss her friends, she hadn’t been gone long but already the isolation was eating away at her. She missed Missandei’s warmth and wit, Irri’s kindness and resilience, Qhono’s bluntness and passion. And Grey Worm, her dear friend, she missed his stoicism and tender heart.

Grey Worm came from the Unsullied. The masters of the Unsullied settled in the waters not far from Slaver’s Bay, the lagoon that connects the islands of Yunkai, Astapor and Meereen. The masters were greedy for control and spoils so bred sirens and stole their sons, discarding of the daughters. They indoctrinated the boys from birth, leaving no room to question their orders. The masters used the Unsullied to expand their territories, kill other siren tribes and bring down ships for the gold on board. Gold they had no use for, but they knew the King had great amounts of treasures, so they wanted treasures of their own. 

Many years ago, Daenerys had come across the Unsullied while travelling. She was not willing to leave her fellow sirens chained to masters who abused them and denied them any love, who would sell their souls or bodies to the highest bidder. She was all too familiar with how that felt and if she didn’t know how to escape her own situation, she would help others escape theirs. Pretending to make a deal with Master Kraznys she ripped out his heart, as she would do to a human. It’s not that sirens never killed each other, but to do so in the manner they would to a human was even more of an insult. Dangerous too, as sirens blood burns and bubbles like lava. But a siren heart, if removed from the body does not dissolve to seafoam like the rest.

But Daenerys knew it would not hurt her. Not since she was still married to the khal and encouraged to take part in the Dothraki ceremony for outsiders to show strength. They cut an enemy’s heart out, with weapons not their hands, and presented it to her. It was not a fresh kill so the blood did not burn as it might have but she knew from Irri and Rakharo that if someone could take even a few bites they would be lauded. So, she ate the whole thing. 

She tore out Master Kraznys’ heart and freed the Unsullied as he slowly turned to seafoam. Many had chosen to stay and follow her, and some had chosen to leave and start their own communities. Viserys’ thought it weak of her to let them leave her but she Daenerys would always protect their right to choose their own fates. She would never take that away from them.

Viserys’ vicious attitude had only worsened when his sold-as-a-bargain little sister came back from the Dothraki with a new title, The Unburnt. After Master Kraznys, the legend only grew stronger, as did Viserys’ rage. 

Tired of thinking the same cruel thoughts, she tries to rest on the seabed. 

On one of her passes of the harbour and surrounding areas the next day, she finally spots Roose, swimming along the deep. After what felt like a waste of her time, she was finally going to find out what he was up to. He stops at an anchor. Daenerys looks up and sees it. The grey-blue ship. Infamous for sirens and she’d only ever seen one like it. He was here for the King of the North, the White Wolf.

She feels embarrassed to admit to herself that she didn’t figure out sooner what he was doing there. She’d allowed her mind to wander to that toxic place she usually tries to ignore and is not doing a great job off lately. On top of that there were all her current anxieties, how she would complete her task for Viserys, how he had treated her, what she could do to make things better for Valyria. But how could she do anything for them when she barely knew how to help herself. 

He had sold her. Just because she had found a way to work the situation to her advantage didn’t take away the simple fact, he used her as a bargaining tool. She was an object, a thing to him. And now he was going to take credit for killing the most infamous siren killer of their time.

No, she was done being made a fool of. Daenerys would take his heart for herself. After all, he was technically a sailor. Yes, he was a royal too, but she could play dumb. If Viserys wished to embarrass her, well then, she would embarrass herself. _I did as you asked, brother. I brought you the heart of sailor. What do you mean he’s a king? Why I had no idea._ She didn’t think anyone would buy it, but they wouldn’t buy her failing to bring back a royal heart for her birthday presentation either. But they would pretend. The siren court was filled with falsity. Who knew what anyone actually believed? What they appeared to believe was the important thing. 

Roose was stagnant at the anchor drop, his head tilted toward the surface, listening for something. She continues her approach, not seeing the point in playing coy. 

Turning around, Roose did not look all that surprised to see her. He gave her that smirk of his, the one that made her skin crawl and her tail flinch. She knows that humans call sirens the demons of the sea, a ridiculous insult, but when it comes to him she agrees. 

She decides not to waste any more time. “Did you know I was following you?”

“No,” he drawls in the voice as flat and lifeless as his eyes, “but I can’t say I’m disappointed. I rather think your brother would find this an even more fitting punishment.” Ever so slowly, Roose starts swimming up to the surface, following the anchor. “To watch someone else take the White Wolf’s heart. I’m sure you thought you had a right to it.”

She resists a laugh. “It was never hard to find him. Follow the trail of dead sirens and you could find his ship quite easily. I even came close myself a couple of times, but at night his ship is hard to see. And he has enchanted weapons, every siren knows this courtesy of the fair few who manage to escape him. It seemed a better idea to stay out his way than to go chasing him and end up dead. The sirens who have died at his hands either have terrible luck or are idiots. All, in Valyria at least, know to avoid him, unless you want to be seafoam. It was never about my right to his heart; it was about not wanting to die. ”

“Fine reasons, but your king has decided he wants the threat gone once and for all.”

“He has no more reason to be confident now than he did before. What he really wants is the chance of a great reward without any risk on his part. If you die in the task, no one will know he shot for the stars and failed. He’ll be down a hunter, but he’ll find a new one. I hear your son is just as vicious as you are.”

“My boy would like to think so, but he is just a boy compared to me and what I’ve done.”

They’re much closer to the surface now, too close. Daenerys can see a figure leaning out over the deck of the ship. He’s blurred by the water, but she can make out a vague face shape surrounded by a mess of black hair. So, this was him. 

“It’s you,” the sound was a little garbled, but she heard him clear enough, “you’ve finally come for me.” She wondered what he could see from his deck. She wondered what he meant.

Time seemed to slow down in that next moment. Roose opened his mouth to sing. She’d heard his song once before. It didn’t matter that it could not enchant her, it had chilled her to the bones. Deep baritone, haunting and cruel to its very core. It would barely be a moment before the king was in his clutches. And then what? Viserys presents a well desired heart and no one will dare question his rule for another five years, or ten. How much longer can she exist, can Valyria exist with such a king? She doesn’t want his rule, she just wants to go home. To what home used to feel like. That can never exist while her brother refuses to change. 

Maybe taking a little bit of influence will be a good thing in the long run. They can help each other, like when they were children, when she was sure of his love. She wanted this king dead, but Roose could not be the one to do it. There’d be no chance of change if that happened. She would risk Viserys’ wrath, she would take his beatings, but she would stand by no longer while he destroyed Valyria and all the sea.

Decision made, she rams into Roose, bumping into the boat which rocks heavily. The anchor shifted on the ground. For a moment she saw a gleam in Roose’s eyes, a tiny flicker of life. Finally, a challenge, it seemed to say. And then he was on her throwing her into the boat even harder. The whole thing seemed to almost tip behind her, but then it swung back

There was a loud splash. There he fell. She watched the King of the North slowly sink in his dull armour. The water was too murky for her to clearly see him but by his frantic movements he looked torn between swimming to safety and taking his armour off. He was currently doing both ineffectively. 

While she’s been distracted by the man’s fumbling’s, Roose has already reached him and dug his nails in over his armour. He struggles for long enough to give Daenerys time to reach them. She throws all her strength into her arm and takes a chunk out of Roose’s tail, then claws at his face. While he writhes in pain, she grabs the king and swims a way from Roose. He’s not out of the game yet but she needs to buy herself some time. He’s left a dent in the armour, but whatever it’s made of, she won’t be able to get to his heart through it. She’d have to take his armour off before she killed him. 

While she’s killed plenty humans, she’s never really paid much attention to their clothes. She spins him in her arms, so he faces away from her, keeping a tight grip of him in one hand while her other claws at what looks like clasps on his shoulder, hoping that this will be enough to get him out of it. There’s not a lot of finesses to it, she’s clawing so desperately she starts tearing the fabric around the shoulders as well. 

The king, who has been struggling but not enough to bother her, suddenly starts moving his limbs so hard that she struggles to keep a hold. He hasn’t been under the water for very long, he can’t be very fit for a famous killer. She looks up from her work to see Roose coming right at them. Well, that makes much more sense. 

Just before Roose reaches them, she throws him away from her and goes straight for Roose. They claw at each other, and dodge one another’s blows. He grabs her by the hair and tries to swing her behind him, his other hand digging into her shoulder. Daenerys may have grown used to her brother’s violence, but she wasn’t going to take it from this monstrosity. She digs her own nails into his stomach until she draws blood. He reels in pain but she continues clawing.

With the upper hand, there’s only one thing to do now. Digging her nails in his chest, she pushed all of her strength into him. For only the second time she saw life in those eyes. The smallest betrayal of shock, and then all life was gone. In her hand she holds his bubbling heart. She can feel the fire in her hand, but it causes her no pain. In only a few moments, whatever was left off Roose Bolton is swept away.

For a brief moment, a deep panic set in. What had she done? But she couldn’t think of that now. She shot back to where she left him, hoping he hadn’t drowned yet so she could take her second heart of the day. He was gone. Truly panicking now, she looked around her, but couldn’t see him. She swam closer to the shore, the waters getting shallower and shallower. She must have thrown him much farther than she meant to.

There! She catches a bare glimpse of him hauling himself out of the water. She shouldn’t risk it. She should try another time. But Roose is dead, she can’t return without the human’s heart now. She shouldn’t go after him. He’s on the surface. But when will she get another opportunity?

Knowing there’s no time to argue with herself, she has to decide. 

Daenerys drags herself out of the water, leaving the bottom of her tail still splashing in the gentle waves that lap at the sand. The king is barely out of the water, lying on his back, spluttering water from his mouth, his armour gone and shirt hanging off him, tattered. She is momentarily distracted by her surroundings. There is a stone wall that covers the beach, giving them some privacy. The harbour is to their left, but far enough away she doesn’t need to worry about the ruckus she hears. Looking up over the wall she can see the tops of grey buildings, they’re everywhere. An especially large grey, stone building looms on a cliff in the distance. Its grander than most while still being incredibly drab. That must be his castle.

The man in question has stopped spitting up water but his eyes are closed and his breathing odd. She looks down at his long black eyelashes, that flutter slightly on his cheekbones and his pouty mouth. She sees small scars over his face, no doubt from sirens in their last moments. It’s a shame such a pretty face is wasted on such a vile creature. She lays her head over his heart and listens to it pound. A momentary sense of peace washes over her at the realisation of what this one heart could do. It could change everything for her kind, she could try and restore order amongst her family and Valyria.

But that peace is broken when she hears ringing in the distance, what sounds like running footsteps. She knew men from the harbour were probably running towards them but a quick glance to her left shows that, yes, they are still too far away. These footsteps are coming from behind the stone wall.

No time to waste, she puts her hand over his heart and starts to dig her nails in. But the footsteps are gaining on them. She can hear shouts and curses. She has so little time. Is it worth it to be captured and killed if she gets this infamous siren killer first? Blood has welled up around her nails. Just a little more push and she’ll have it. Her powers are slightly dampened out of the water, she’s still strong but this would be easier if she dragged him under, if they were in her terrain, where the magic of the ocean runs through her blood.

But she knows there’s no time for that as the shouts grow so loud she has only moments before they spot her. She digs her nails in even further, hoping for his heart to give. Looking up at his face she sees his eyes are on her. Dark and bleary but seemingly unafraid. He seems…curious. But offers no fight for his life. It’s not as if she’s enchanted him. She’s too shocked his reaction to continue her assault, too shocked to notice men on the other side of the wall. But they get her attention when an arrow skims the top of her head. 

She looks up and spots an older man, out of breath, with a weapon aimed at her. Others are coming into her sight from behind the man. She’s willing to bet they have better aim. She’s out of time. 

She can feel her sorrow swell within her so large that she might burst. With one last look at her foe, her prize, her last hope, she releases him with a cry and scuttles back into the water, faster than light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not gonna be long until they see each other again.
> 
> i updated the chapter count, it's not set in stone but its a rough idea at this point & i'm gonna try and make each chapter longer.
> 
> also, i know this is not the best chapter. i accidentally deleted my draft of this that i was going to post because i'm a champion idiot. i had to start over from an earlier draft & it's not as good but it's been a minute since i posted so i wanted to get something up.
> 
> ramreads1 on twitter


	5. peaceful in the deep

He dreams of purple eyes. It’s been three days since the attack. Three days stuck in bed with his family and crew fussing over him like a child. He was never this taken care of when he actually was a sickly child. His father would come sit by him when he could manage himself away from his duties. But Catelyn didn’t come see him and didn’t allow his siblings to either. 

He thought he would enjoy it more, but at this point he’s just irritated with everyone and wants to get out of bed. But Arya snaps at him every time he’s tried. 

It doesn’t help that every time he drifts off, which is often as it turns out almost drowning is a tiring experience, he dreams of her. Her face isn’t quite clear in his memory, no matter how hard he tries. 

When Jon pulled himself out of the water, he thought he was in the clear. He remembers coughing up an alarming amount of water. He remembers the ache in his shoulders from swimming, and the siren’s clawing. And he remembers her. Not her face, but her presence.

He hasn’t admitted to anyone that when she first came for him under the water, he thought she was saving him. He has no idea why. No reason to believe that. But his first instinct when she grabbed him away from the male siren was relief. Maybe he shouldn’t trust his instincts.

The water was so murky he couldn’t see much of her, all he could see clearly was her hair. It was silver and reflective, almost like moonlight on water on a cold night, but not quite. A silvery-blue shade he’d never seen before and doubts he’ll see again. A spectrum of colour that only exists within that singular creature. A creature with impossible strength and speed, whose eyes shone like amethysts with hair that managed to reflect what little light reached the deep waters. 

When she reappeared above him on the beach, his vision was blurred, a result of his very near-death experience and lack of air the maester told him, but he could still see that hair, now reflecting sunlight. Shimmering, a silver-gold colour now. He’d never seen a colour like that either. It was all impossible, inhuman. 

Well, she was inhuman, so he supposed that made sense. But he’d never seen a siren who looked so…magical. 

When he was in and out of consciousness, he felt the tickle of, what he thinks was, her hair on his chest. He knew he should move or fight back but he was too tired to breathe let alone try and defend himself. He felt her nails dig in around his heart and fought to open his eyes. If he couldn’t fight for his life, couldn’t muster up the energy to go for his dagger and let it drink her blood, he at least wanted to look into the eyes of the creature to kill him. Wanted to see the face that has eluded so many.

It was fitting, he thought, if it had to be anyone or anything, it might as well be her. He was the infamous killer of sirens, and she of royals. 

He latched onto her eyes, the silver-gold hair burning a halo around her. If he knew he was going to survive, he would have tried harder to focus. Tried to force his oxygen-deprived brain to co-operate. He wanted to burn the face of his enemy into his mind. He wanted to use it to fuel him. But all he could remember clearly were those monstrous, strange, _lovely_ purple eyes. 

That he’d likely only see one more time before he took her life. It’s life. She was not a person. He could not humanize her just because she had pretty eyes. 

The one day he decided to wear his kingly armour just had to be the day that sirens visited his shores. They’ve never come this close to land before, at least not that he’s heard. Sometimes starved sirens wash up on beaches but it’s fairly rare. If they’re coming this close to land, then they’re running out of options. Jon supposed, in a roundabout way, it was a good thing the Royal Bane had come to hunt him. All his crew’s work and killing must be making a difference to the sirens if they’re greatest weapon was so desperate to hunt him and risk death to do so. He was trying to think positively and not question his own decision-making.

He knows when he spotted her, that gleaming silver-blue hair, that he should have alerted someone, but he was so shocked, so enamoured with coming close to his enemy that he doesn’t think he could have moved if he tried. Some were worried he’d been enchanted once he’d relayed the story to them. But no, he was unfortunately in his right mind, _if you could call it that these days. _

Nobody will let him out of bed, saying he needs time to heal. He felt much better after a day of rest but then came down with a slight fever, a result of an infection where her nails had dug in on his chest. The maester poured all kinds of remedies down his throat to ensure the North would not be losing another king. So, for two days, he’s been in and out, always dreaming of those distinctive eyes and hair. The flash of a bright red tail disappearing. His enemy out of his grasp once more.

_Stop thinking of her as a majestic puzzle to solve. Remember beautiful things can be monsters too. _

He needed Tormund to hit him very hard and get these thoughts out of his head.

This day, the day he decides he’s getting out of bed and getting to work no matter what the maester says, he wakes up to the sound of his sisters bickering. They hadn’t argued like this in a while, that he knew of anyway. It was like they were children again. All over his stupidity and bravado and…curiosity. 

“This is the last time he should be going out to sea.”

“How do you figure that one? They’re used to be limits to what sirens would do, where they would go. Those are gone now. We need to strike, and we need to strike quickly,” Arya argues.

“Of course, you would say that. At sea you don’t have to fulfil your duties to this family.”

“Keeping the world safe from sirens is a duty. There are a lot more people than just our family, Sansa, not that you care about any of them.”

“You don’t get to say that to me when I am ruling here, while you both traipse around.”

“Firstly, _you’re_ not ruling, you’re on a council. But is that honestly what you really think of us? That it’s all just a lark?” She takes a deep breath, gearing up for more fighting words and Jon knows this can only get worse.

“Hey!” he barks, making them both jolt. Their faces immediately soften, noticing the sheen on his forehead that covers the rest of his body too, making him even more desperate to get out of this bed.

“I understand your worry Sansa, I’m worried too. But Arya’s right, this needs to be done, now more than ever. If I hadn’t already convinced our lords this would surely do it. We can’t have people any more afraid of the ocean than they are now. Lives depend on trade, Northern lives too, gods know we can’t grow enough to feed everyone. How do we do that when everyone’s too scared shitless to step on a ship? It’s not about avoiding duty, it’s about being where we’re needed most. Right now, that’s out there.”

He left out the part where he felt like a fraud. He left out that he was angrier than ever, at the siren, at himself, at the way history had unfolded to bring everything to this moment. The Royal Bane had come to his land, been on his beaches. The king and the hunter were two parts of himself, that for the most part he kept separate. He’d buoyed the vassals by appealing to their own self-interest, they wouldn’t care if a ship of wine traders were brought down but make it about kings and queens and lords and well, then it’s an issue of the upmost importance. But they still hadn’t dealt with the threat, with the hunter side of Jon, not really. 

Now though, word had spread. The ‘Mad Queen of the Sea’, he rolled his eyes at the dramatics and inaccuracy of the nickname, had encroached on their land, against their warrior king. And although, she hadn’t won, he had still lost. He hated her all the more for it, for destroying an illusion he’d built up of the untouchable siren killer. He’d hated their first altercation wasn’t going to be their last, that it didn’t end with his knife stealing her blood. 

Rising from his bed, he ignores their hands out to steady him and please of being careful. Going over to the basin and dunking his face in the freezing cold water, holding himself under and willing the bite of the cold to take away all non-murderous thoughts of the siren. He held himself until all he could feel was that anger, the burning for justice. Until those eyes were not a subject of his curiosity but a reminder of his appetite for her blood. He was nothing if not stubborn.

“Make no mistake Sansa, the Royal Bane will pay for what she’s done.” He meant every word.

After midday he makes his way to Ghost, all his crew on deck at the behest of Arya. His crew made up of warriors and wildlings, fishermen and women, and strays they’d picked up along the way. He couldn’t be prouder to be their captain. Could never put into words the gratitude he felt at their trust in him, no matter how undeserving he felt of it at times. 

And he was about to ask them to go on their most perilous journey yet. 

“We’ve had some wild journeys before,” he says to them, “seen some shit I doubt any of us ever expected to. My orders have sometimes been dangerous but none of you ever complained. Well, most of you.”

Some of them smirk in Arya’s direction who only scoffs at him. 

“But this is different from anything else we’ve ever done. I don’t need the whole crew to come, we can make do with half. Those of you with families, with children, I’d advise to stay behind.” They only stare at him still, loyalty obvious in their eyes. It’s said you can’t choose your family, but Jon has handpicked each and every member of _Ghost_. He might not be forthcoming; he might not drink and tell secrets like the rest of them but they’re his family regardless. “I’ll think no less of you who choose to walk away, I understand you’re loyalty and if we succeed any of you who don’t volunteer for this mission, will be welcomed back to the crew upon our return.”

“Enough speeches! Get to the point so we can go kill that siren bitch of yours,” Tormund calls out to raucous laughter, and shouts of ‘here, here!’

“Not long ago, a man came to me and told me of an item. An item that if we could find it,” _and figure out how to use it_, he left out, “could have the power to kill the Sea King.”

“That’s impossible!” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Someone once told me it was impossible to have wildlings and Northerners co-exist, that we’d kill each other before the sun set on our first day of living together. That taking a crew of misfits to sail dangerous waters and kill sirens would have us all heartless within a week. How did all that work out?”

“I don’t know about you lot,” Karsi says, “but my heart’s still beating.”

“It’s said that Kings of Valyria cannot be killed by man-made weapons. This weapon, the Siren Horn, was made back when magic was at its most powerful. It might not be able to kill him outright, and even if it did, for all we know the power would pass on immediately to whoever’s next in line, and from what little we know of their society, I would hazard a guess at that being the Royal Bane. This horn could do nothing to kill the Sea King and just weaken or damage him. What I do know, is that the people who found or made or stole this horn, didn’t hide it at the top of the Shadow Mountain because it was harmless.” The chatter dies down at that.

“You want us to go to Asshai? We’ve never sailed those waters before.” Varamyr asks, many of his crewmates nodding in agreement.

“We’re going to be doing a lot of things we’ve never done before. It’s a lot to ask, but for those of you who join me, I’m asking for your trust. I don’t have all the answers but I do know if we want the seas to ever be safe again, we have to act now.”

“What about the Sea Bitch” someone calls out, “isn’t she who we should be after?”

“The Sea King has all kinds of power we can only guess at. But I guarantee that if we find the Siren Horn, the Sea King will know. He’ll feel it and he’ll come to us, and she’ll come with him.”

“So we sail to a place we’ve avoided due it being too dangerous, go into a kingdom that we know basically nothing about, climb a mountain that very few survive to look for something we aren’t sure exists and even if it does exist, might not work?” Gendry asks, an incredulous look on his face. Both he and Arya look bothered by Jon’s plan.

“Sounds like fun,” Arya says, still looking displeased but forever on his side, publicly at least. He’s not used to them questioning his orders or having to separate their private feelings from their public ones.

“I suppose I can spare some time,” Karsi calls out.

“We can’t leave our little captain all alone can we?” Tormund chuckles

“Aye, sounds like fun,” someone else joins in. And so it goes, as his loyal crew agree to joining in what could be their death march. Some holler like its game and not lives at stake. His wonderful, deranged crew. 

Davos starts shouting orders about getting the ship ready so they can set sail as soon as possible, while Jon tries to slink away, still a few important errands to run before they can leave.

Arya sidles up to him before he can get away, “where’d you find all that out? About the Sea King knowing we have the horn?” Her arms are folded, her whole posture screaming how unimpressed by him she is.

“A fairytale.” 

_Humans and sirens were allies once_, he’s kept telling himself since he devoured every children’s tale he could find, _the stories had to come from somewhere truthful, right? _

_The Red Witch_ is empty at this time of day, there’s no stragglers from the night before and no barmaids dragging them out by their ears. He knocks loudly on the mahogany bar and takes a seat.

“I knew it was you, the blacksmith not with you?” Melisandre appears from the back office. Unsurprised, as per usual, to see him. 

“He’s readying the ship, we set sail soon.”

“What a shame, he’s much prettier.” _Try telling that to my sister and see what happens,_ he thinks better of saying aloud.

“I’ve come to propose a deal.”

She only looks at him and goes to make him a drink. Something he has never seen her do before, come to think of it. When she slides the drink over to him, he only nods back in her direction. Sighing, she takes a drink. 

“Happy?”

He drinks in answer to that, trying not to grimace. A drink nearly as disgusting as her usual patrons.

“Did you really think I’d poison the king in my own tavern?”

“No but you can never be too careful, there’s all kinds of horror stories of how kings have met their ends.” He smirks, trying to draw this conversation in the direction he wants it to go.

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. No doubt unused to him being even remotely playful towards her. The only brand of playfulness she’d been witness to was him threatening people in her tavern. 

“I heard a tale about a king, one who fell in with a witch, a real one mind you, not one who runs a tavern,” he chuckled to himself. “No one knows if it was infatuation with her or infatuation with power that drove him, but all who knew him say it drove him very far. Nowhere good though.” 

He swirls his drink aimlessly and pretends not to notice her eyes intent on his face, her whole body tense. “The witch who was as the stories go, a princess from the shadow lands. She preached in darkness, cloaked to hide her face. So few knew her true face, only the closest of the king’s inner circle, and yet she amassed quite the following. All these people worshipping an ancient god from half a world away. The only problem with this is that their worship involved fire, and if you don’t contain it, it spreads quickly. Too quickly, it makes it dangerous. It didn’t take long until there was almost as many worshippers of this fire god as there was the old gods that previously all in the kingdom believed in. This caused riots and fear and the king was not the kind of man to assuage these fears. Few had faith in him, probably why he turned to the unconventional. His older brother, a famed warrior, had died. The warrior king’s legitimate children turned out to be bastards and fled with their mother and true father, who also happened to be their uncle but that’s a story for another time.” 

He took a gulp of whatever the monstrosity she’d served him, it tasted like the Wildling drink he tried hard to avoid. “So, with only bastard children left, the crown fell to him, the middle brother. The stern, boring, easy to dislike brother. And yet, through this witch, he gained loyalty. Loyalty in the wrong places, but to him it was still a win. When those who followed their old gods got angry with their king and revolted, he assumed all would be well. For his witch saw in the fire that it would be. Was she a charlatan, a liar, or simply naïve? A few weeks into the country’s rioting, a devout worshipper of the old faith managed a way into the castle, and lit fires along his way. All died in the fire.” He noticed her wipe a tear away but kept on. 

“The king, his wife, daughter, his council and presumably the witch princess, for she was never seen again. The youngest brother now sits the throne in a far better insulated castle. Much less old wooden furniture. Apparently, he’s dealt with the conflicts much better, being the charming young man that he is. But still there are followers, awaiting the return of their red witch to guide them as she used to. Not much word gets out from the shadow land kingdom but the little that does says the princess has not returned home either.”

He lets the silence stew for a bit. Waiting to see if she’ll play dumb, which would be pointless but is often what people do or face up to her deception.

Melisandre visibly deflates, the rigid way she usually holds herself instantly loosening. She rounds the bar and takes up a stool down from him.

“How long have you known?” Her voice is flatter now, void of the mystery she must try and inflect upon her words.

“Since I became the king. I might be unpopular, but I did take it upon myself to learn all I might need to know about those who live in my kingdom.”

“And yet you kept it to yourself.”

“I know how capable of folly people are. I know that you weren’t practicing any magic on my lands. I imagine you hold deep regrets over what occurred in Storm’s End.”

“You have no idea,” her eyes look to flash red for a moment, gone as quick as it came.

“If I thought you were a real threat, I would have had you gone a long time ago.”

“Gone or dead?”

“That depends on how willing you were to leave. There’s something I don’t understand though, why all the secrecy? They know the fire wasn’t your fault in Storm’s End and I doubt you’re hunted by those from Asshai, looking to assassinate a queen. One of your siblings must have become regent years ago, so why hide?

“I left once Benerro became king. With our siblings to counsel him, I knew I had no place there, no wisdom to share that the others could not give him. I wanted a place of my own, I had no interest in being a ruler who could not actually rule. I wanted to see the world beyond Asshai, to see kingdoms that were nothing but snowy white, or burning red sand, or” she indicates to the door leading outside, letting her hand fall limp, “grey.”

“And now that you have?”

“I hate the vile shade.”

That gets him to laugh, “well it’s still the most beautiful kingdom I’ve seen. The best in the world.” 

She gives him a disbelieving look. 

“If you dislike it here then why do you stay?”

“Homes are hard to find. I found another once, and you know how that ended.” 

He nods at her statement, feeling melancholy all over, for reasons he doesn’t want to get into. “It would be a shame then, for people to find out you’re a princess fled from her kingdom?”

“My king, are you trying to blackmail me? You haven’t forgotten already I’m a fairly powerful witch.”

“I’m not blackmailing, I’m just stating a fact. Business around here would change if they knew the gimmick wasn’t just a gimmick,” he says indicating to the kitschy interior.

“People would want to use me, and I would have to kill them. I’d probably have to kill half my customers.”

“That sounds bad for business.”

“But being a killer has worked out so well for you.”

His lack of reaction seems to be the reaction she wants. She smiles a terrifying, ancient seeming smile. A smile that knows all and tells you nothing. She’s undoubtedly one of the most fearsome women in the North, despite not being of the North and her fierce qualities being much quieter in nature than the rest. A part of him wants to get up and leave this part of his reckless plan behind him. But he can’t. It’s too important. And he knows better than to turn his back on a fearsome woman.

“What is it you want? You didn’t come here for a chat.”

“I want the Siren Horn. I want your help in climbing Shadow Mountain.”

“Because I’m an expert mountain climber,” she replies drily.

“Let’s not play any more games. I know that the Asshai royals make the climb when they come of age, and I know despite your worship that you don’t all survive based on magic in your blood. There are passageways, correct?”

She tries to stare him down but seems too exhausted by the conversation. “You want me to guide you and help find your fairytale?”

“I can hardly scale the deadliest mountain with no knowledge and expect to survive. Will your brother even allow us into the country? I know you’re a secretive people. With your help you can convince the king to give us safe passage, you can tell us the secret passageways and advise us the best way to go. You’ve been to the top, haven’t you seen it?” He feels his blood pumping now, he needs for this to work or all is lost.

“If your siren horn is there, I haven’t seen it. But…” she trails off, tapping the bar absentmindedly, “There is, the ice palace. Not even an Asshai royal has been in there. It’s been locked for centuries, not even us of shadowblood have entered.”

“An ice palace?” He’s truly incredulous now.

“You believe the rest of the children’s stories but this one is too much? I know how it sounds but it’s the truth. There was once a necklace amongst our family, bestowed to them by the supposed ancient rulers who placed the horn in the ice palace. The necklace was the key to it, _as stories go_,” her sarcasm bites, clearly not believing in even her own family’s part of history, “to be held by my family until a day came when we might need it. But it’s lost. It’s not a normal lock, this is old magic, you can’t shimmy your way through. If you want to open the palace, you need to find the necklace. Good luck with that, as no one knows where it is.”

“Finding lost treasure is a specialty of mine, let me worry about that.”

“And if the horn exists, how does it work? This is an ancient magical object, there will be some sort of ritual needed.”

To be honest, he was avoiding some of these questions, or had hoped she’d have the answers. His lack of answers must show as Melisandre bursts into laughter. 

“Say you somehow find the necklace, that old legends are real. Say you manage to survive the climb and open the palace and figure out how to use a horn that no one alive knows how it works. Say all of your delusions are true, why would I help you?”

He takes a deep breath, not so ready for the plunge, “I can give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want, my king?” she seems bemused by him now, and he can’t blame her.

“To be a queen.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Melisandre speechless. She’s quiet often but always in control. He knows he’s never seen her react honestly to something.

“You…” she trails off, clearly still at a loss, “you didn’t come here to propose a deal, you came to propose.”

He soldiers on, hoping if he gets through it quickly, it’ll hurt less. “It’ll be no love match, but I know you want influence. I know you want what your own family never gave you, that you feel you’ve earned. You’d be queen of a powerful kingdom. Now, you wouldn’t be given free reign. There’ll be no forced conversions, but if you want to preach, then you will have the choice to do so. If you want to hold ceremonies that don’t end with the burning of someone, you can do so.” He sighs deeply he feels there’s no more air in the room “You will have more power than you have in your little tavern.” 

“You don’t even believe in R’hllor.”

“No but I know what it is to feel drawn to something beyond any reason. Even when you know it’s dangerous, or bad for you. You’re drawn to the god of your land even having lost your faith in him. I’m drawn to the sea even if I know it will be the death of me. Like I said, preach your words, dance around pyres or whatever it is. You don’t believe in it the way you used to, but it still seems to bring you comfort.”

“Always,” those eyes flashing red again.

“Then what is the harm in it bringing others the same? But if you betray those ideals, then I promise you that you will be the one to burn.”

He can see the idea spinning in her head, to have the power she’d never have at home. To get to preach freely, to get a do-over at what she’d failed at in Storm’s End. To bring her love of R’hllor and share it with others, without inciting hate and violence. To show her family that her knowledge and influence is not insignificant. But he also sees doubt trickle in.

“You know your lords will not allow this. You think they’ll listen to me as you go sailing with your pirates?”

“I won’t be leaving again.”

_Speechless again, he’s really got a skill at this. _

“If I do this, if I manage to kill the Sea King or Royal Bane or even lessen their powers, then my time at sea will be over. If I end them, then there’ll be no need to hunt sirens. If we just weaken them, then my crew are more than capable of hunting without me. Either way, I will return home and be their king.”

“You’ll be miserable.”

“Undoubtedly but I’ll manage. Do we have a deal?” He thrusts his hand out, willing her to take it and end his pain. Or start it, depending on how he looks at it.

“What about children? You’ll be expected to have heirs.”

Dropping his hand, he replies tersely, “Children should be a blessing, not a burden. I doubt any we could potentially sire would be born to a healthy environment, not where mother and father barely speak to one another.”

“Love is rarely immediate, who knows what could blossom.”

“Even you don’t believe that.”

“No.” Again she smiles that eerie, terrible smile. She’s truly bemused by him now. Probably realizes that she’s getting the much better end of the deal. 

“That’s fine, I’ll name one of my siblings’ heir, whichever the lords find least disagreeable. Or if they have children, they will inherit the title. Either way, we won’t be procreating.”

“Fine by me, I’m not the motherly type,” she pauses, deliberately and obviously thinking something over, “I still have no desire to go back to Asshai though.” 

He realises too late that he’s been too obvious in showing she has all the power here. If she doesn’t agree to help him, they are well and truly fucked. He’ll still take his chances, but more if not all of his crew will die in the process. Maybe he should’ve stuck with good old blackmailing, but she could have just disappeared again, started a new life, no matter how much it burned her. 

He runs a sweaty hand through his hair and drops it to a bouncing knee. “You know the way to the ice palace?”

“I know several ways.”

“Then you draw me a map, making sure my crew don’t die by dehydration or freezing or whatever other numerous ways there are to die on Shadow Mountain…and if you think of giving me a false map, of lying-“

“Yes, yes” she waves a dismissive hand in the air, “you’ll burn me alive.”

“You give me that map, and I make you a queen.”

His hand, back to resting on his knee, is shaking when he lifts it again. It doesn’t subside as she takes his hand, and smiles.

~~~

She swims as far away from their harbour as she can. She swims with no idea of where she’s going. Roose’s heart had been dropped when she went chasing after the king, it lays at the bottom of the sea somewhere. And the other heart is unfortunately still residing in its owner. How badly had she messed things up? She never should have followed Roose, what had it gotten her? She’d murdered her brother’s biggest ally and failed to kill the greatest threat to her kind. 

A feeling of dejection weighs so heavy on her she contemplates letting herself sink, to rot away on the seabed where no one will ever find her. But that’s wishful thinking. Viserys is the King of Valyria, of Siren Kind. There is little that goes on in the seas that he is unaware of, if her cares to look for it. He’ll find her, he’ll learn of her betrayals and failures. And Daenerys will be more at his mercy than ever before. 

She’d considered staying near the docks, waiting for the king to reappear, so she could enchant him. But she deemed it too risky. She might enchant the king but she’ll be speared by one of the guards, that’ll no doubt be looking for her. 

She can’t avoid Viserys forever, but nor can she bring herself to swim back to Valyria, to certain doom. She wants is to be back with her friends, free to explore. Daenerys worries though, if she goes home, if they take her side, which she knows they will, what will Viserys do to them? They’ve never been ‘important’ enough for him to take much notice of, but if they publicly side with her against him, will they come to know his cruelty too? They’ve already been dealt such brutal hands, harder than hers. 

When Viserys attacked, and she knew he would. In fact, she was sure if she went back home that he’d make a spectacle of it and they would try and defend her, as she would them. But he was the Sea King and King of Valyria. Missandei’s wits and Grey Worm’s strength were no match for what Viserys had. The powers bestowed upon him, unearned, unlike her friends. 

Daenerys wants to break down in Missandei’s arms, to feel a loving embrace for once, but she can’t. She loved them, she hoped they knew how much, but they couldn’t be around her now. If they were to stay safe, they must remain far away from her. 

The water feels colder all of a sudden. She’d always ran hot; all sirens do and her especially. But right now, it felt like there was no warmth left in the world. Her skin prickled and she waited.

Out the corner of her eye she saw a flash of purple, too quick to be clear. Again, and again, she spun trying to catch a glimpse. 

She’d been all too close to his violence before, but not these powers. Shaken after almost being killed by the former Stark king, he never hunted anymore. Yet more proof of his cowardice, to have the ability to wield such strength but leave it to others because of one mistake, one moment of fear. 

She’s growing dizzy trying to follow him, spinning herself around and around, when he appears in front of her. 

“Is there no end to your betrayals, sister?”

_This is bad_. Viserys appears almost serene. He’s not spitting or yelling at her as he usually does when he loses his temper. No, this is a cool rage. One that has festered, a build-up of a lifetime of resentment. A kind she has never seen from him, and the roiling in her gut tells her is going to be much, much worse

“Listen, please, I can explain.” She detests the pleading tone she automatically takes, but it’s a survival instinct she has come to rely on around him.

He looks at her with more disdain than she has ever seen, “You saved the human I sent Roose to kill.”

“That is not what happened!”

“Then why is Roose dead, and the human alive? Don’t bother lying, you know the sea speaks to me.”

_Never mind you’re usually so busy burying yourself in frivolity to listen. Of all the times you choose to be observant, to use your abilities and seek me out when I’m not around, it had to be now,_ she bites her tongue to keep from snapping. This fight will not be won with her true opinions of him, it likely won’t be won at all.

“I was fighting Roose for him, I almost got him on the beach, but his soldiers came for me and I lost my chance.”

“I asked you to bring me a sailor’s heart. Are you asking me to believe that you didn’t know who he was?”

She shudders, “No, I knew.”

“So, it was a betrayal and an incompetent one at that.” His voice has taken on a sibilant tone, like that of a deep-sea serpent. 

“I knew you wouldn’t he happy, okay?” she can’t stop her voice from rising now, “I knew you’d be mad at first but I thought sooner than later you’d realise it was a good thing I killed him. The White Wolf would be dead, and at our family’s hand!”

When they were younger Daenerys once got caught in seaweed while fleeing assassins. Usually it’s completely harmless but in the rush, it got wrapped around her neck. Her gills were forced shut. She felt the water start to fill her lungs, choking her, killing her. Viserys freed her and sped them away, finding a safe haven for them just in time. Or as close to a safe haven as they ever had. Viserys knew how much it had frightened her. He knew it was a trauma for her. He knew that the fear had been embedded deep. He knew all this, and still, he put a tentacle around her neck and squeezed. 

She claws at the tentacle, trying to wound him but he only uses another to wrap her arms around her back. Her vision blurs around the edges, her lungs aching in violent protest of the intrusion.

“I told you that would no longer take advantage of my kindness, of our shared blood, but did you listen?”

He loosens the tentacle around her neck, and she chokes violently as her gills work frantically trying to expel the water from her lungs. He lashes her again and again, over her face and arms and stomach, but she is too busy trying to calm her panicking heart to care. 

He pulls her close to his face by her neck again, glaring into her eyes. “You insolent thing, you are not worthy of being my heir.”  
He throws her into the seabed and around him the ocean starts to grow black and grey, shadows engulfing them so she cannot see anything but him. The unique cone seashell around his neck seemed to glow faintly,

“You are not worthy of the life I’ve given you,” Viserys spits at her.

“Please, brother” she doesn’t recognize her own voice. It’s cracked and jarring. But more than that, worse than that it’s weak and pleading. Two things she never allows herself to be anymore. With only one exception. After her husband died, she swore to herself she would never beg anyone for anything, let alone their barest affections. She has kept to her word in all relationships, all dealings except with her brother. The only relationship she has that requires constant supplication in an effort to avoid vicious hits or violent words.

“You’re going to fix this, Daenerys, and then maybe after your punishment, I’ll consider forgiving you and allowing you to come home.”

“What- what do you mean? This isn’t the punishment?” She’s never sounded more like a child, and never recoiled in fear like she does when Viserys starts to laugh.

“No, dear sister, that was not the punishment.” From the shadows a shape starts to appear, summoned by Viserys’ awaiting hand. A trident. _How powerful is he?_ She’s known for a long time that her brother is not good but this power he wields is far greater than what she thought. The trident ripples in his hand, an intangible object but when he slams it into the sea bed she feels it reverberate. There’s no time to puzzle on her brother’s powers before the pain starts. 

At first all she hears is a loud crack before agony hits her and she realizes it came from her. 

She feels her bones break, realigning. She thinks she can see the soundwaves in the water from her shrill screams before her eyes go white in agony. The pain shifts to her scalp, moving through every hair strand. The pain so acute, she feels each like each hair is tugging on her brain.

In her eyes, her veins, crawling it’s way through her body. This monster, this torture like a living thing inside her. It goes to her throat and her gills close once more but when she pries her aching eyes open Viserys is still where he was, hovering imperiously around her, only watching as her body tears itself apart. He must be doing this with his magic, closing her gills without touching her.

She tries to swim up, away from him. She doesn’t think the pain can get any worse but she’s wrong, so wrong. Her back arches without her input as her spine feels like it’s trying to crawl free from her boy. He watches impassively and does nothing. He does nothing as she feels, as she _hears_ her tale start to rip apart. He does nothing as her lungs fill and she drowns. 

She’s sobbing, choking on water and bile and blood, haven bitten her own tongue so hard amidst the torture. Her lungs are filling and she can’t move. All she can feel, all she can hear is that ripping. She doesn’t want to die here, she wants home, she wants her mother and Arthur and Willem. She wants the old Viserys back. More than anything she wants air, trying to struggle her way to the surface but not knowing why its so hard. Every movement an earthquake in her body. Her heart thuds ominously and in desperation, in panic, she claws at her own chest, hoping she can claw whatever this agony is out of her chest. 

She’s dying and she can’t stop it.

“If you want to return,” Viserys snarls, “bring me his heart before the seasons change.”

She recognizes the words, but they make no sense to her in her blinding torment. All he does is stare at her, completely without love, as the darkness winds itself around her and pulls her under. 

~~~

Clutching the map Melisandre drew him in his hand, Jon stares out at the horizon. He’s been obsessively checking it, in fear if he doesn’t, he’ll somehow lose it. 

It’s been a day since they set sail, leaving only a day after he got out of his sickbed. He’s sure Sansa is cursing his name, annoyed for leaving her to explain the king’s absence so shortly after his attack but he has bigger things to worry about now.

Going on a very risky, possibly stupid venture, obviously. But also, the glares he’s been getting from his sister since he announced his proposal. 

He hasn’t told his council about the engagement. No need to worry them if he ends up dead and there’s no marriage to happen. He has though, told his crew.

To say the reaction to his proposal to Melisandre wasn’t great is an understatement. The crew were indignant on his behalf. Calls of having to lower himself to a tavern wench. A bit hypocritical of them, he thinks, seeing the company they keep. When he revealed she was in fact a lost princess of Asshai, the reactions were somehow worse. 

“If you wanted to fuck a redhead, you could always come to me, little wolf,” Tormund jibed. One of the kinder things people had to say.

Arya was furious, of course. Had cornered him with Davos and Gendry in his cabin and had only calmed down a little when he made it clear to both of them, he had no intention of marrying Melisandre, not that she knew that. He’s not planning on going back on his word, he’s not that kind of man and Melisandre is not the type to react well to such a betrayal. He is, however, hoping to introduce a new player to the game. One that will give them both what they want. The deal with Melisandre, was always his plan b. Arya still smacks him over the back of the head after he relays this to her, though. Thinking it a stupid move either way.

She’s not wrong. More and more he was realizing what a desperate venture this whole thing was. But he would move forward with confidence, feigned or not, as he has always done for his crew.

The dark thoughts creep in though. Marriage to Melisandre or not, after this voyage, he will have to go home and be king. He meant what he said when he told her that his crew could handle it if the sirens are weakened. All excuses he’d have to stay away will be void. Either way, he’s looking at a miserable life. A life being king of a country where the respect is at best begrudging. It’ll get better if he succeeds, but it won’t last. People forget so easily. He’s staking everything he has on this mission and he tells himself if he makes the seas safe, it will all be worth it. But the selfish part of him knows it won’t be. The part of him he ignores, and quiets says the North is no true home for him, and never will be. No matter what he does. 

Shaking himself out of his self-pity, he gets to work. They’re making a pit stop before they head to Asshai, hopefully one that will ease his anxieties somewhat.

As he looks over the map once more, Gendry sidles up to him. “So, this map will lead us to the horn then?”

“It’ll lead us to the ice palace where the horn is, aye.” His worries must be showing as Gendry smacks him on the back.

“We have faith in you captain, you haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

“It’ll just be a bigger surprise when I do,” he says morosely.

“Sometimes things are worth the risk, worth the pain they cause.”

Jon only nods wearily at him, “aye I hope you’re right.”

“I can’t believe you signed your future away on a piece of paper, to marry a princess” _not such comforting words there_

“You’re basically married to a princess,” he shoots back.

“Arya’s not a witch,” he opens his mouth to make a jibe when Arya appears out of nowhere to smack _ him_ over the back of the head.

“Best keep your mouth shut, love, if you want to keep the princess.” They smile goofily at each other and Jon contemplates throwing himself overboard. 

He settles on interrupting them before this can go any further. “Besides, my plan could work. I’ll give Melisandre a better prize than what I’m offering.” They look doubtful, something which is becoming more common recently.

To be fair to them, he is undertaking this journey based on hearsay and hunches, so they might be right.

“Captain,” Davos calls to him, “a raven from Sam.”

Resting against the taffrail on the stern, he reads the letter from Sam which amounts to ‘I haven’t found anything yet but it’s very dusty down here.’

With things moving so quickly he only had time to gather the inventions Qyburn had promised him, which he reluctantly admits seem fairly impressive, and briefly reunite with his grief-stricken old friend. 

He left one of ravens with Sam and set him to task digging through all of the storage under the castle

When a Stark king dies, it seems that instead of going through their belongings and deal with the loss, those they leave behind both metaphorically and literally lock it all away. And so under the castle, on the other side of the crypts is a humungous storage room, filled to the brim with Stark king’s old shit, including Ross and his father’s. He has no idea how far back it goes and is certain most of it is useless. But he is holding out a tiny shred of hope that the mess goes back far enough to include the kings of old who were allies with sirens, that there might be something with some information in there.

“Tell Sam that while I appreciate the work, he can’t update me if there’s nothing to update. Tell him only to write if he finds something. I know the raven’s been blood magic’d but it’s still just a bird,” he instructs Davos.

“Hey,” Tormund calls out, “there’s something in the water.”

People rush to their stations, grabbing harpoons and crossbows, long spears. Some already lowering their enchanted net.

Rushing to Tormund’s side, he pulls out his telescope. But Jon doesn’t see a siren. 

“Weapons down,” he calls to his crew, “it’s a woman.” She’s not clear, but by the long hair, he’s assuming it’s a woman. He can see her body draped limply over a medium sized log, unmoving aside from being bashed by the waves.

“What the fuck is she doing out there?” Davos asks.

“Could be a trap,” Tormund says, looking doubtful.

“Not one I’ve ever heard of, seeing as she’s got legs.” Looking back through his telescope, he sees that she’s gone. The log still floating. 

“Fuck!” Tearing his gambeson and shirt off, he sets his compass, map, and new whistle, courtesy of Qyburn, down gently on his clothes.

“Jon, you can’t mean to. There could be sirens out there! Let me go,” the loyalty his sister shows him will never fail to warm his heart. But he’s not risking anybody else. 

“You’ve all good aim, watch my back. Oh, and don’t let me drown.” With that he climbs over the taffrail and jumps into the water.

The water freezes his bones, and he realises what a very bad idea this was. But there’s some woman out there and he’s not going to leave her to the sirens. Swimming furiously in the direction he last saw here, he can feel the _Ghost_ slowly start to move after him, the water pushing around him. 

He swivels his head, looking for what he thinks was blonde hair. Then he sees her. Sinking to the seabed, a naked woman with her hair and arms spread out all around her. Eyes shut and probably halfway dead already. He swims after her, punishing his still sore body to reach her. Grabbing her waist, he’s momentarily surprised at her body’s relative warmth considering the cold waters. 

He swims for the surface, hauling her with him. It worries him that no matter how hard he’s gripping her, the pressure he must be putting on her ribs, she doesn’t stir.

As soon as he breaks the surface and reintroduces his lungs to air, a rope is thrown out to him from his, much nearer now, ship. They heave him and the girl onboard. 

With her lifeless body laid out on deck he pumps on her chest, hoping to expel the water from her lungs. He doesn’t need to see another person die; he’s seen more than enough of it already. 

He heaves a brief of relief as she splutters and coughs up water, some blood seeming to be mixed in. His crew are surrounding them, and he motions for them to take a step back, not wanting to scare her when she wakes. He rolls her on to her side as she coughs, her eyelids fluttering but not opening.

At this point he notices the bruises and lacerations that cover her. Her neck is one giant purple bruise. He wonders where she came from, there were no ships in the distance, no land either. From her white-blond hair and skin that looks to have burned and tanned, he guesses she was out there for a little while. Arya hands him his discarded shirt and he lays it over her body. This seems to jolt her awake as her eyes fly open. An ocean blue, with gold around the pupil. He’s never seen eyes like them before. 

She rolls over and heaves even more, more water and more blood. It’s disgusting but he feels for her. Whatever she went through, it wasn’t easy. When she looks back to him, he’s shocked by how young she looks. Gods, she looks frightened, panicked, _feral._ Swinging her head around to look at the crew, look at me. Still seeming dazed as she opens her mouth and tries to speak, only a harsh noise coming out. 

He puts a gentle hand on her wrist, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Her face takes on a less innocent look as he spits a word at him, “Darys.” It comes out as a hiss, sounding guttural and foreign. 

Before he can back away, she raises a hand and slaps him across the face, hard. Face stinging, he drops her wrist and raises his own hand as many of his crew step forward. 

She has a cold look on her face, aimed right at him, as she drops her head back to the deck and her eyes wearily flutter shut. 

“Gendry,” Jon says, the weight of a very hard few weeks bearing down on him, “fetch me some rope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so they meet again...
> 
> sorry if there's a bunch of typo's. i got real sick of writing this chapter so i posted as soon as i was finished.
> 
> in case you were wondering but i think it made it clear, there'll be no jon/melisandre.
> 
> targaryen_blake on twitter


	6. in the belly of the beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no jon pov this time

She comes back to the waking world slowly. Light burns through her eyelids but they still feel too heavy to open. Where is she? Her head is pounding so hard the world doesn’t quite make sense to her yet. Her heart starts beating furiously in her chest, as if whatever panic she was has followed her into unconsciousness and back out of it again. 

She tries to lift her arms to cover her eyes, but her wrists are restrained. She wriggles them but whatever it is, it’s too tight to squeeze her hands through, too tough to tear through. _If I still had my strength, I could break through it easily. _

Now she remembered. Waking up on the deck of the siren killer’s ship. Waking up to him looking at her with concern. Waking up and realizing Viserys had done the worst possible thing he could have. Turned her into a human. 

Her eyes burst open. She’s sat down and her hands are tied to the railing behind her but all she can focus on are the legs in front of her. 

Her legs. She had legs now. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off them. She shifted her hips slightly and they moved with her. Tears were rolling down her face. The sun was burning her eyes but not badly enough to make her sob. 

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes again, wanting and not wanting to look at the same time. She took deep breaths trying to calm herself, but it was no use. She was stuck on her enemy’s ship. 

Daenerys was not so stupid to believe it a coincidence. She knows that she was out in the water for a while, a few days possibly. She’d awake every now and then, confused and in too much pain to do anything, too thirsty to move. She’d never known what it was to truly thirst. Sirens didn’t have that problem. 

She was stupid enough to believe, somewhere deep down, Viserys still had some love for her. That some part of him sought to protect her, that their bond had not been completely ruptured. Her tears ran hot and furious now. How had she given up so much of herself for him, just for him to throw her to the wolves. 

A voice cleared their throat and when she opened her eyes, she was now surrounded by a group of humans. Others bustled around in the back, not paying her much mind. These faces, however, were set on her, serious and what she thinks is their attempt at menacing. She can’t help but scoff at the sight, her throat still raw and tender. 

At the front of this little gathering is him. The king. His hair is pulled back into a bun, his dark eyes steady on her. He stares without emotion, not anger or fear, but not welcoming or concerned like before.

Oh, that’s right, she slapped him. Now she remembered. And spat out ‘king’ at him in Valyrian. Probably not her wisest choices. But given the fact she’s still alive, she’s assuming they don’t know who she is. That she has legs is helping her right now, no matter how much she hates it. But she must look different in other ways too. If a human saw a siren with only the upper half of their body out of the water, they’d still be able to tell it wasn’t one of their own kind. It isn’t just the tails that give them away, there’s an aura to her kind that there isn’t to humans. And even amongst sirens, she’s always looked different. Her whole family has. 

She dares to look away from the king for a moment, taking a glimpse to her side. Her hair swishes into her vision. No longer the silver-gold, that reflects the lights and colours that surround it. The blood orange of sunset, the dark blue of the night sky or the pink and purple of coral fields rippling through a silver canvas. 

Her hair was always of much fascination to her lovers, who’d constantly be playing with it. She did not consider herself arrogant but even she would preen at the attention it gave her. A petty part of her was happy that even Viserys’ hair did not mirror colours as strongly as hers did. Now, it’s a white blonde, similar to the colour her hair was when there was nothing to reflect. But there’s no glow, no magic. 

It’s utterly, disgustingly human.

When she looks back to the crew, many are glowering at her, namely the small female who bears a resemblance to the king. She’s never in the mood to be glared at, but even less so right now. Her whole world has crumbled and the last thing she is going to do is cower and plead. It amounts to nothing but more pain. She knows that now.

“You’re not a very good swimmer,” the king says raising an eyebrow at her, his voice deep and rumbling. 

She can’t help but scoff at his assessment, his eyebrow raises even higher. “It was an off day for me.” Her voice is still cracked, a combination of Viserys’ assault and dehydration. She thanks her ancestors in that moment for never letting the Common Tongue die out amongst their kind even after the wars with the humans started. It may not be her mother tongue, but she’s got a good grasp on it. 

He says nothing and the silence lingers. She’s not going to offer any information about herself unless she has to. Living in exile was terrible, but it did teach her many skills. Namely, if you can get away with keeping the truth to yourself, then you should. It was reckless to trust in a stranger. _Especially this stranger. _

“Do you always tie up the women you save?”

“Only the pretty ones,” the large, bearded ginger man chuckles, elbowing the dark haired, blue-eyed boy next to him who looks to be trying very hard not to laugh. 

The king doesn’t laugh, his mouth doesn’t twitch. Daenerys hates these people and even she could find the humour in the ginger’s joke but not the king. He looked more miserable than when she was trying to kill him.

“Untie me.”

“He’s not even gotten a thank you for saving your life and you think to command him?” The short girl asks, her voice monotone, _she and the king must be family_. But she can her some humour in her tone, alongside the disbelief. “He saved you and he clothed you but you’ve no gratitude to spare?”

She looked down and saw that yes, she was wearing an off-white shirt, with ties below her collarbone. It didn’t quite reach mid-thigh and felt odd and scratchy on her. It just occurred to her this was the first time she’d ever worn clothes. She had the sudden urge to giggle but tamped down lest they think her any crazier. 

Clothed or not, she was not about to bow at the man’s feet for saving her. He wouldn’t have if he had any idea who she really was. _Forgive me for not wanting to plead with a monster who hunts my kind for sport, _ she wants to scream but she bites her tongue and repeats, “Untie me.”

“I can’t place your accent,” the king drawled arrogantly, deigning to speak again, “where are you from?”

“Why is that any of your business?” She knew she had to answer but she needed time to stall, so she could think of a lie that wouldn’t unravel the moment she told it. 

“You’re on my ship, that makes it my business.” They hold each other’s eyes, as she frantically tries to think of an answer.

“Ibben,” she says calmly, trying to come across as reluctant and not triumphant that she finally thought of something that might work. She, her friends and Daario had travelled as far as the Bay of Whales years prior. She knew little about their society, but she doubted these humans did either. The island nation has a small populace from what she could gather and is so far out of the way it doesn’t attract many visitors. 

“Ibben…even I haven’t been that far. What were you doing all the way over this side of the world?”

“Exploring,” she replies curtly. His crew around him mutter to themselves, making jokes at her expense she’s sure, guffawing and generally irritating her. She’s been conscious less than five minutes and she’s already trying to reign in her rage. 

“Your Common Tongue isn’t very good, makes sense if you’re so far from home.”

She squinted her eyes at him, she thinks she sees a barely-there smirk before it disappears. _So, he’s trying to rile her up._

“I’ll take your word for it. I’m sure you can speak many languages fluently, other than your own.” 

One of his crew, a tall brunette woman, guffaws. “She’s got you there, captain.”

Captain, not king, she notes. Makes sense, since they’re at sea, but its uncommon for any king to ever allow his subjects to call him something else. Certainly, Viserys would never allow it. 

Sensing the hostility, what looks to be the eldest of his crew chimes in, “Now I understand this is a tricky situation, but he did save you and got a slap for it. I, myself am a little confused.”

“I woke frightened on a strangers ship and a man I never gave permission to touch me, touched me. My apologies for not assuming the best of people.”

“Given what you seem to have gone through, all bashed up as you are, I think that’s understandable.” Hm. The old man was her favourite so far. 

“Why were you out there?” the king reaches inside his gambeson and removes some circular object, flipping it in his palms.

She might hate her current state but she’s not going to give in and throw her life in the hands of her enemy. So, the best route to take is to tell as much truth as possible, without getting herself killed. She’s never been a good liar, but she is skilled at being evasive.

“My brother.” It takes more effort than she thought not to choke up.

The king takes a quick glance to what she thinks might be a compass. Rhaella had gifted her one when she was very young, she wasn’t sure if it was from a kill or just sunken debris. She had kept it in a pile of treasures she would play with. Swimming around the castle, playing with what was essentially human garbage but to her they were the keys to a whole new world of imagination, where she’d have human friends and they’d visit each other in their respective kingdoms. She wasn’t a jaded young siren, once. Both the treasures and the imagination were lost to her after they had to go on the run.

“Your brother threw you overboard?” The grey-haired man asked gently.

“My brother left me to die.” That quietens down the band of morons. 

“Why did he do that?” the smaller woman asks again, but her tone is less harsh than it was. 

Tears sting her eyes. She closes them and takes a few deep breaths. She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out. She shrugs.

“Did he…” the boy with piercing blue eyes gestures to his own throat, “give you the bruises?”

She nods in response. The king looks back up at her, she thinks she sees a flash of sympathy from him. Shaking off her sadness, she straightens as much as she can and glares at him. She’s no need for his pity, only his life.

His eyes return to their hard stare, though his voice is softer when he asks, “What’s your name?”

Here’s hoping the many rumours about her never included her real name, “Daenerys.”

“Daenerys,” he repeats in his rough accent, her name not quite flowing the way it should. He returns his compass inside his gambeson. “Jon,” he responds though she didn’t ask. “Back to work,” he commands.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to ask?” The big redhead asks him.

“For now. Whoever she is, she’s little risk to us. I’ll get the other answers I need after she’s rested properly.” 

While his crew return to whatever it is that they do, the older man comes and cuts the rope at her hands, Jon stood beside him but not touching her. “Davos,” he says, thrusting his hand at her.

She delicately places her hand in his, her wrists and shoulders aching from being tied up, “Pleasure.” He pulls her to her feet. _Her. Feet. She screams internally._

She immediately loses her balance, gripping onto the railing with one hand, while Jon shoots forward and holds her by her other elbow. Davos helps her right herself and Jon pulls his hand back quickly, raising both at her in what she thinks is meant to be an apology.

“Your body’s probably still in shock, seems you were out there a while. You should be steady after some proper rest.” He barely looks at her while he talks, eyes focused on her feet instead. Are they strange looking for a human? She’s never paid attention to the feet of those she’s killed. Or is he just not a very good conversationalist? 

“I’d be steadier if I wasn’t on this ship,” she snarls, angrier that she’s having to get these men’s help to do something as simple as standing up. Human babies can do it, she scolds herself.

“You know, I liked you a lot better when you were unconscious,” he snarls back. She hears Davos release a deep sigh beside her.

“You can leave us, Davos.”

To the man’s credit, he looks at her also, gauging whether or not she’s comfortable being alone with Jon. Yes, he’s definitely her favourite. She gives him a small nod.

She takes her hand off the railing slowly, putting her other arm out for balance instinctively. _Wonderful, I have human instincts now._ With the ship rocking, she wobbles but manages to stay on her feet. A part of her wants to celebrate her small accomplishment but knows that might be a little peculiar. 

The boat rocks and she flies forward, the only thing stopping her fall is Jon’s chest. For a brief moment she can feel his heart beating and is transported back to the moment she almost had it. This all could have been over if only she were stronger. 

He takes her hands off his chest, holding onto them until he sees she’s steady again. Reaching back into his gambeson he pulls out a necklace. Not just any necklace, her seashell one. The necklace her mother gifted her. 

Her hands fly to her throat as if the sight of it in front of her is not enough proof that it’s gone. Given how far from home she is, and the precariousness of her situation, she’s unlikely to get her mirror again, so this is the last thing she has of her mother. _Had_ of her mother, since it’s now dangling from the sour-mouthed king’s hands.

“How did you come to have this?” he drawled arrogantly.

“It’s mine. Give it back to me.” Her heart was pounding again, she had to remain calm or she was going to ruin this. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s mine?” She was incredulous now; who did he think he was?

“Is that so? I’ve seen plenty seashell necklaces in my time, but none quite like this.”

He was right there, even some of the humans whose hearts she’d stolen wore them around their necks. Some superstition that wearing a part of the sea protected them from it. Her seashell though was like none she’d ever seen a land-dweller wear. It was midnight blue with pink and silver running through it. The kind you only find in the very deepest parts of the ocean. She remembers her mother putting it around her neck, a warm smile on her face. A smile just for her.

He’s not as dumb as he looks then.

“Give. It. Back.” It’s taking all her willpower to not start spitting at him in Valyrian. She doesn’t like the Common Tongue and doesn’t usually speak it this much. It feels clumsy on her tongue.

“What is it worth to you?”

_What?_

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing’s free in life,” he swings it back and forth, “so what is it worth to you?”

“Your life,” she spits. It at least gets a chuckle out of him, a harsh, mocking one. 

“By the way you look at me, I don’t think my life is worth much to you at all.”

He has no idea how wrong he is. 

With him seemingly happy to continue this game of his, she tries to grab for it but in one smooth motion he has his knife to her throat, her back pinned. 

“Now, why would you think that’s a good idea?”

She can feel the pressure on her neck, but more than that, she can sense the sorcery that rolls off the blade. 

He doesn’t look like he plans on slitting her throat, merely intrigued by her strong reaction to the necklace.

“Captain!”

“What is it, Gendry?” He says not looking away from her.

“Ones been spotted, out west,” the boy, Gendry, responded, seeming frantic.

Taking a step away from her, her hands immediately go to her neck, there’s no blood, no cut. Jon looks over his deck, his crew all looking to him now.

“Get in position!” He turns to back to her with a smirk, tucking her necklace back inside his gambeson, “Come on Daenerys, you’re about to meet your first siren.”

While his crew run around the ship, yelling orders at one another, she keeps a hand on the railing and watches the chaos. 

At one point the big ginger starts rambling to a large bald man with facial scars, speaking so quickly that at first, she thinks he’s speaking a different language. Catching a few words at the end, Daenerys realizes that the Common Tongue must have changed a bit in the years since her ancestors learned it. Whatever he was saying, she’s guessing a crude comment about sirens from what little she picked up, sounded like nonsense to her. 

On the other side of the ship she can see Jon conferring with Gendry, Davos and the girl. _Calling him Jon already, how informal._ She would curse herself but she’d rather think of him as Jon, such a plain name, than as captain or king. 

Her head is still struggling to keep up with everything. Not ten minutes ago she was still in a daze and now she was trying very hard to run with the circumstances and not have a complete breakdown. The easiest way to do that was to stay on task. 

Now she just had to learn how to walk, and quickly. She edges along the railing, awkwardly and slowly, just shuffling her feet. The sensation was so _strange._ How far was she meant to lift her legs? She was trying not to overcomplicate it, but walking seemed awfully hard to her. She took a moment to watch the crew, who walked across the ship with ease despite the bobbing waves. Going here and there, some even running, so urgently trying to do their jobs, whatever they were, that their feet barely touched the ground.

She lifted her legs only slightly at the knee and took a step, then another. She couldn’t help it his time and let out a laugh. Thankfully no one noticed. She might hate having legs, but it was a novel experience, if an unpleasant one. Focusing again, she took a few more steps, hand still on the railing. Deciding to be brave, she removes her hand and waits a minute to regain her balance before continuing on her incredibly slow journey.

It can’t have been any more than a minute when she comes opposite to Jon, his focus on his crew and the sea, where this siren they hoped to capture was. She knows his reputation, as do most sirens, which is why she can’t fathom why one has come close enough to be spotted. It’s either a siren from a small community who knows little of the hunters, or a very arrogant siren who heard the warnings and ignored them because of their own sense of superiority. With her experiences both in exile and in the capital, she’s come to learn a lot about her kind and in her opinion, there was a very equal chance for either. 

Despite not being at all a long distance, it felt laborious to Daenerys and her new legs. She can’t fathom how she’s going to make it across, there’s no railing for her to rely on if she falls but feels silly even thinking it. _It’s an above average sized ship, not two sides of the ocean. You’re a Targaryen, now move. _

Her pep talk works and without another thought she was off, as speedily as she could. Half-way across her plan starts to fail, the speed at which she took off is now throwing her off balance as the ship fights its way through the water. She swerves to one side, barely managing to right herself before she starts tumbling down. Just before her face meets the deck, she’s hauled back up by her shoulders. 

A grizzly bearded man pats her hard on the shoulders, “Steady on there, love.” He grumbles in what she’s coming to assume is the Northern accent. He starts to turn her away from her destination, “You should probably have a rest if you’re feeling woozy. I’ll show you to the ladies cabin.” 

She smiles at him, going for charming but probably not reaching it, “The captain said I could see a siren, I’ll rest after, promise.”

He grins back at her, it softens his whole face, though his teeth are yellow and uneven. “They are a sight to see.” He pats her on the shoulders again, before heading away from her. Either she’s more charming than she thought, or he really enjoys watching sirens be killed. 

When she finally reaches the other side, staying on her feet the whole time, she grips on to the railing. What fortunate timing too, as a shrill, painful sound fills her head like a knife piercing through her skull and has her knees buckling. She pushes herself up, about to cover her ears when she notices that no one else seems affected. Forcing the grimace off her face, she tries to appear as unaffected as the rest of them. Whatever this is, it’s meant for sirens.

Today must be both her unlucky and lucky day. Yes, she might have ended up captive on her sworn enemy’s ship, but they haven’t noticed her aversion to that sound or inability to walk yet. 

He hands off the whistle to another, who takes up the job of trying to make her ears bleed. 

Close enough to overhear, Jon mutter in frustration “I’m going in.” 

“Have you lost your mind?” the small brunette woman yells at the same time as Gendry speaks resignedly, “Again?

Other crew members surround them, most don’t seem a fan off the idea, all spitting their apprehension before he raises a hand to silence them, “They know better, they know about our near invisible net, so they’ve stopped coming close to the ship.”

“That mad bitch had no trouble getting close and knocking you in the water,” the ginger says.

Ignoring that he continues, “It won’t come close unless the reward outweighs the risk.” He looks around at them, sees the disbelief on their faces. “Don’t look at me like that Arya,” he directs to the small brunette, “it’s the best plan we’ve got. Throw in the net after me, all I have to do is guide her into it.”

“If it can cut up a siren, it’ll make ribbons out of you,” Davos says, joining the fray.

“It’s being repaired anyway,” chimes in Gendry, “too many gaps need fixing, there’s a lot of wear and tear on it.” 

“What’s the point of enchanted weapons if they need repaired all the time? And why is it still being repaired anyway…did no one think we’d be, oh I don’t know, hunting sirens?” Arya bellows.

“It takes time to fix it, it’s hardly our usual work.”

“We’re wasting time, we’ll use the back-up net.” Jon intervenes, “Davos, can you-” before he can finish his sentence, Davos scuttles off. Despite the chaos around her, she can see this is a well-oiled machine. She fails a burst of anger boiling inside her. These people are only so skilled because they’ve made a living out of trying to eradicate her species. 

“The back-up net? Our homemade invention,” Arya seems caught between disbelief and bemusement. 

“We haven’t used that in forever,” Gendry seems almost giddy at the prospect.

Barely a moment later, a regular looking net is carried over to them. It doesn’t look all that impressive, and obviously isn’t their invisible-to-the-eye, slasher of sirens one. A siren could tear through this easily. Then the sun hits the deck and glints off the glass that is entwined within it. Looking closer, she notices lengths of wire twisted and sticking from it as well. Homemade indeed. 

The crew who dragged it over drop it, she can see the blood staining their hands. She briefly wonders how their soft human hands handle the more dangerous net. 

Jon has teared off his gambeson now, tossing it behind him. Moving a little closer, she can see the pockets stitched inside, where he must be keeping her necklace. Before she can make a grab for it, Davos sweeps it up and hands Jon something, two interconnected black tubes, one lying laterally along the other.

“How much time did Qyburn say?”

“Five minutes,” Davos responds.

“Should be more than enough.” He shoves the tube in his mouth and pushes up over the rail, one leg hanging over.

“I know you don’t like being reminded of this when we’re not at home, but you _are_ a king, you can’t use yourself as bait, you utter id-” Daenerys watches Jon disappear beneath the surface, while Arya yells after him. 

The crew goes silent, she looks around, everyone at a station, weapons loaded and pointed at the sea. There’s a long thirty seconds, of complete quiet, the mood both anxious and serene, before the men with bleeding hands lift the net again. 

“Down!” one of them yells. Arya grabs Daenerys wrist and pulls her down. Looking to the side, she sees all those standing closest to the railing have ducked down. The others move in, throwing the net over, she can hear the quiet gasps of pain as they throw it. They work quickly to tie the ends to posts set along the ship. Arya pulls Daenerys back up with her, the coast now clear. The crew step back, muscles tensed, waiting for the moment they can pull it back up.

Gendry sets a comforting hand around Arya’s shoulders. “He wouldn’t do this if he thought he wouldn’t survive.” 

Even Daenerys can see the doubt in Arya’s eyes, the hidden pain, as she scoffs an unconvincing laugh. “Of course he wouldn’t.” She snuggles into Gendry, and Daenerys looks away, this conversation not one she’s a part of. “You know, more and more these days I think of the scolding father would give him for being so foolish.”

Father? That explains the resemblance. This is Jon’s little sister. A princess too, like Daenerys. Although they’re her enemies, from what she’s seen so far Jon and Arya appear to have a much healthier relationship than she and Viserys.

She’s reluctant to admit it, they are her enemies after all, but from what she’s seen so far Jon and Arya appear to have a much healthier relationship than she and Viserys. _Not a very high bar to pass,_ a dark part of her whispers. She’s been ignoring that part of her a long time. The small part that gave up on Viserys a long time ago. 

No point going over these same poisonous thoughts again, her mind turns to the object Davos gave him.

She turns to the still cuddling pair, crossbows leaning against the deck by their feet, waiting for them to use, “What was that thing Davos gave him?”

“Breathing tube, has five minutes of air so there’s one less thing to worry about,” Arya responds, detaching herself from Gendry. They pick up their weapons now, back to business.

She’s never heard or seen any of these inventions before. It didn’t bode well for her kind that the humans were getting better and more dangerous weapons.

“Should she uh…” Gendry flicks his eyes toward her, “be up here, just roaming around?”

“She slapped Jon, she didn’t disembowel him, I think we’re safe.”

“I was just checking,” he mutters.

Alongside the taller brunette woman, the scarred bald man she saw earlier sidles up to her, eyes cold and threatening. She feels half his size and it’s at that point she realizes how much smaller she is than most of these people. In the water she has a glorious red tail, one that’s the subject of much envy for its strength. She’s not the biggest siren, but she’s certainly not little. Not like how she feels with this man next to her. 

She might not know a lot about human customs, but she knows when someone is sizing her up, so she throws her shoulder back, standing as straight as she knows how to and glares right back at him.

“When the captain comes back, you’ll get to see a beautiful sight.”

“Sirens dying is not a beautiful sight,” Davos sighs, sounding like he’s had this argument before, “a necessity, aye, but not a beauty.”

“Watching them die is an overwhelming experience,” he continues like Davos hadn’t spoken, “it’s what we do to our enemies, you see girly.”  
Gritting her teeth at the nickname, she feels the urge to launch herself at him when then the other woman cuts in, laughing. “Wasn’t so long ago you were the captain’s enemy too, idiot. Go bother someone else.” He skulks off but not before shooting her another withering look.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s a Thenn.”

“What’s a Thenn?”

“It basically means he’s a cunt.”

Daenerys can’t hold back her shocked laugh. The woman puts out her hand, “Karsi,” she says, shaking, “and that was Styr.”

“He’s not the most personable,” Arya adds.

“Ooh, personable,” Gendry mutters mockingly under his breath. Daenerys doesn’t get the joke but it gets a high giggle out of Arya, and a smack to his arm, which only makes him smile wider.

“Gods, that whistle’s annoying.” Karsi says, the others echoing their agreement,

The shrill sound has mellowed a little in her ears, still noticeable and still sore but not as agonising as it was, like an itch on her back she can’t reach. She wants to tell them that mere annoyance is not the worst thing they could be experiencing. Instead she asks, “what’s it for anyway?”

“An ex-maester came up with it, his own design. It hits on some nerves they have that we don’t, so painful they’re not strong enough to sing their song. We only just got it and it means we won’t have to wear those bloody wax earplugs as much as we used to,” Arya explains to her, getting some laughs. Clearly these earplugs were a nuisance to the crew and they carry on complaining but it all fades to background noise as all Daenerys can think of is how the ex-maester came to know about what nerves to hit upon. How many sirens did he experiment on to find that out? She shuddered.

“You cold?” Gendry asked her. “You should probably borrow some of the girls clothes.”

Looking down at herself, she remembers she’s only wearing a shirt, _Jon’s_ shirt.

“No, I’m fine.”

He looks at her awkwardly, “…You sure?”

“It’s only a pair of legs, love, I’m sure you can carry on without drooling,” Arya rolls her eyes at him.

She’d heard that the humans were unbearably modest, but to be shocked by a pair of legs? She was shocked by them, but not for the same reasons. She inwardly scoffs at their weird rules when it comes to their bodies. Still, she has bigger things to worry about right now, like how to stop them from killing whatever siren they drag onto their ship. 

“We’re a smaller crew than usual,” Arya informs her, noticing Daenerys perusing the ship, “I figured you’d have questions, not everyone finds themselves dragged from the ocean onto the ship of _The White Wolf_,” she says the nickname sarcastically, a fond smile on her face. “Just so you know, not all the stories of us are true, only half or so.” 

The only thing Daenerys has heard of them is that they kill sirens, but she tries to return the smile as best she can.

“Should you be telling her all this?” The ginger next to Gendry eyes her warily.

“Not you too, Tormund,” Karsi speaks, “You’d think you’d be friendlier to outsiders considering all we’ve been through.”

“Do you think Captain Crow would want her knowing all this?"

“All what? We haven’t told her much beyond the obvious. Besides, what if she becomes part of the crew? It might be the strangest way anyone’s ever joined, but it’s not impossible.” We’re a band of misfits here,” Arya looks at her with a smirk, “Welcome to the Ghost.”  
Their little group shares a chuckle. Thankfully, before any more can be said of her joining them - a disgusting idea and she’s sure Jon would agree with her – the man himself bursts from the surface, hanging onto one of the lines attached to the deck. 

Everyone at the railing steps back as the men from before, cut hands still bleeding step forward and start to haul the net back in. Jon stands atop the net, with his own cut down his left forearm, several more littering his body, his clothes torn in several places. His shirt seems ruined, sticking to him from water and blood. Inside the net she can see sharp, jerky movements and hear the wretched screams of a siren in pain.

Arya looks both relieved and enraged to see her brother, “You fucking idiot! Did you get wrapped up in the net?”

“She wouldn’t come, it was the only way to lure her,” he says as if it’s a reasonable thing to say.

As soon as Jon steps foot back on deck the whistle cuts out and the dull ache in her ears she’d been doing her to best to ignore dissipates immediately. Not so for the siren though.

As the crew stand back, peeling the net away and keeping a safe distance, though they’ve nothing to worry about by the sounds of her agony, she thrashes wildly, a tangle of dark hair and tan skin, her tail still wrapped in glass and wire. She winces in empathy. 

“You could have killed yourself in that thing. Don’t think we’d waste our supplies trying to heal you up.”

“I’m fine, Arya,” Jon puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe we’ll leave you out there, next time you do something so stupid,” Gendry says, getting a small, truly tiny, smirk in return.

That really gets Daenerys angry. He’s _amused_ by the idea of disloyalty. Where she’s from, in her world, disloyalty is a given. It’s a surprise, a rarity for true, genuine trust to develop, even rarer for it not to be broken. It’s why she holds her friends so dear in her heart, why she’ll never, ever take them for granted. This man is so sure of his crew, his sister’s faith in him that she’s sure he can’t even comprehend being betrayed, like it’s not an option. Daenerys can’t imagine being so lucky as to think that way.

The siren continues to cry as they detangle the net from her body.

“She was sneaky, that one.”

“She was trying to outsmart you,” she says to Jon, who looks surprised she’s speaking to him, trying to keep the note of pride for her brethren out of her voice.

“She tried and failed,” he responds flatly.

Taking another look at the siren, wet hair hanging lank over her face, she notices a bronze tail. Anxiety starts to roll in Daenerys’ stomach, a primal reaction she immediately puts to the back of her mind. The siren shifts direction and opens her mouth to sing, stopped by a sharp whistle blast. A shock jolts through Daenerys’ body, she barely contains her whimper, feeling her nerve endings tingle unpleasantly. But the siren wails, rolling over on the deck, over the glass and wire, hands to her ears. Knowing only a fraction of the pain she’s going through, Daenerys feels rage on the siren’s behalf. Calming somewhat though still screeching wounded sounds, the siren leans up on her hands and Daenerys knows her gut instinct was trying to warn her. 

_Doreah._

Doreah’s eyes, one brown the other permanently bloodshot and scarred, move over Daenerys as if she doesn’t know her. That transformation really must be something. Especially if Doreah doesn’t even recognize who gave her that scar. 

They were friends once. Then Doreah and Viserys became involved. It didn’t bother her though she knew it wouldn’t last, it never did with her brother. Only when she learned Doreah had been spying on her for Viserys did the relationship turn toxic. Doreah begged for her forgiveness and she had granted it. It brought them closer together, they never spoke explicitly about Viserys and his cruelty, but Daenerys knew how manipulative he could be so tried not to hold a grudge against her friend. 

Viserys grew bored, as he did, but Doreah did not seem devastated and their friendship didn't falter. But again, she found out her friend had gone to Viserys, tried to get back into his good graces by trading information on Daenerys’ friends and lovers. When she discovered this second betrayal, she didn’t think, only lashed out, permanently scarring her former friend.

She’s always kept a check on her temper, never wanting to be like her monster of a father. But she lost it, once. She couldn’t fight Viserys, she couldn’t fight the unspoken laws the ruled her kind. So, she fought who she could. She wasn’t proud of it, but she didn’t entirely regret it either. Why did everyone else get to act on their impulses, but not her?

She was a living creature just like everybody else. Why was she not allowed to be flawed while others were excused of theirs? For a moment, and it’s the thought that shames her more than anything else, she just wanted someone to feel hurt as she was. 

But the moment passed, and she grew older and wiser, though still not wise, it seemed. Could she really blame Doreah for trying to better herself with what few weapons she had? Yes, she could. But she could blame her brother more, for using people up and making them desperate to impress him. She could blame him for not doing anything to fix their broken society, making it worse with each decision he made, and benefiting from every one.

She takes a step towards her, focusing on Doreah’s face, on what she did and on keeping her balance, though she was having to think about it less. 

Doreah spins towards her, and spits at her in Valyrian.

_Filthy human whore._

Locking eyes, she sees the same hatred for humans that’s been ingrained in their kind, reflected back at her. Doreah goes for her with sharp nails, but Jon pulls her back against him. 

“Watch yourself if you don’t want to get killed,” he says into her hair, a shiver going down her neck.

“I’m not afraid of her.” He takes a step back from her, but she can still feel his presence.

She hasn’t taken her eyes off Doreah, who’s thrashing has only caused more wounds on her torso, slowly seeping blood. She’s pinned from every angle, every time she moves towards a crew member they aim their crossbows or blow the whistle. Turning back towards her, she sees the moment Doreah sees through Viserys’ glamour. Her eyes widen. “Dārilaros,” she says, barely more than a whisper. Princess. Her shock gives way to anger and then a cruel smile spreads across her lovely face. A horrific laugh screams from her throat before she hisses at Daenerys, “Nyke ūndegon ao jiōraton skoros ao gūrogon.”

Fighting to keep her calm, she tries to dismiss the words. Daenerys may not be perfect, but she does not deserve to be made human. 

“She doesn’t seem to like you much,” she hears Gendry say behind them.

“Nyke pykagon va aōha lentor,” Doreah continues, not advancing, just cursing at her, trying to get a rise. The others seem confused by Doreah’s behaviour. She imagines their killings are usually over much more quickly.

“Aōha līve muña rots isse se embar skoriot jeme sytilībagon!”

At that, Daenerys breaks. Doreah can insult her all the live long day, but she does not get to insult her mother. “Ossēninna ao nykēla puatta aspo,” she screams, leaping for her, any sense of logic gone in that moment. 

Before she can do anything, Jon clamps his hands around her waist, spinning her and pushing her up against the railing.

“You speak Valyrian?” His voice is as chilled as the Shivering Sea. 

Shit. She had to think fast before she got cut up by the angry Northerner and his merry band of oddballs. 

Glancing at a cackling Doreah over Jon’s shoulder, she decides to go with the most obvious answer aside from the truth. “I’m from a family of siren hunters. We learned Valyrian from a siren we captured.” The lie made her think of Missandei, who had been kept captive for so long and never gave in to the human’s torture. Instead, she took knowledge from them.

His brow furrows like he doesn’t believe her, “You said you had no family.”

“I don’t, not really,” a bitter laugh escapes her, “My last surviving family member left me out there. He abandoned me. Only after he beat me and tortured me.”

She was just trying to get him off her back but the truth in the words surprises her. The total vehemence and conviction with which she spews them. 

“Look at my necklace, you noticed something off about it, didn’t you?” 

While he’s hardly a barrel of emotions, she can see he’s starting to believe her.

“It’s an heirloom passed down through my family,” not technically a lie, “one of my ancestors took it off a siren they killed long ago, only those who dwell in the deep have seashells like it.” 

Keeping her pinned, he looks over his shoulder. Doreah is spitting blood now, a piece of wire has embedded itself in her chest, her laughter fading. She’s dying, slowly and painfully. But around her neck is a necklace similar to Daenerys’. Viserys had gifted it to her from his trove of treasures, it’s not as rare as Daenerys’ but it is obviously no regular seashell that washes up on beaches. The magic that still resides on the seabed, and within those who live there is present on the seashell. In this environment it is as unusual and abnormal as Doreah herself. This was not their natural habitat, neither siren nor seashell should exist here. 

Just as the blade Jon wields should not exist anywhere, you can feel magic if you think to search for it. Even from his side profile, she can see him put it together. 

Turning back to her, he still looks vexed by her, but he seems to believe her. It’s infinitely more believable than the truth. It’s been hundreds of years since sirens could transform into humans.

“What did she say to you?”

“She insulted me.” A truth and a lie, she did insult her, but she only grew enraged at her besmirching Rhaella.

“You’ve quite the temper, don’t you?” His grip on her loosens. 

“I’m working on it,” she responds flatly.

He lets her go completely then, the crew eyeing them curiously. Doreah splutters, wheezing as the life drains out of her. A single word chokes out of her.

“What does that mean?” Jon eyes her.

“Please.” The anger has drained out of her. All she sees is a siren in pain. 

He looks disturbed by her answer. “Let’s end it quickly then.”

“You don’t want her to suffer?” she asks him, disbelieving.

He side-eyes her for a moment. “I just want it to be over,” he sighs deeply and approaches Doreah, taking his knife from his belt. There was that peculiar vibe around it, announcing its charmed presence. 

She’s weak, lying down now, as Jon crouches next to her. He raises the knife above her heart but hesitates a second too long. With the last of her strength, Doreah launches herself up at him, flipping him on his back, his knife skidding out of his hand, near Daenerys. She scratches and bites, trying to take this siren killer with her as she dies. It’s a noble effort. His crew shoot several arrows, panicking when one almost hits their captain. A few embed in Doreah’s tail and she grimaces for her. 

She zones out the yelling and frantic cursing among them, she can only hear the dying screams of her former friend. 

She’s brought back into the moment by someone calling her name. Before she can react, Tormund shoves her out of the way, and she skids and thumps across the deck.

She sees that he kicked the knife into Jon’s outstretched hands, he wastes not a second before plunging it into Doreah’s heart. A high keening sound empties out of her as he tosses her body to the side, the blade drinking up every drop of her burning blood. His crew rush him, helping her to his feet. 

She watches as Doreah turns to seafoam, it starts gradually and then she’s gone, all that’s left of her dissolving on a human ship whose sole mission is to hand this fate out to all sirens.

Doreah was her friend once, she had loved her and harmed her in equal measure, and now there was nothing left. A whole, complicated life disintegrated in a matter of moments.

She doesn’t fight as Gendry grabs her elbow and pulls her to her feet. 

She doesn’t resist as she’s dragged belowdecks and put in a small, windowless room. 

She doesn’t argue as the door is shut behind her, a lock clicking in place, and she’s left in complete darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took me forever, drag me
> 
> also we're kind of hand-waving the hair thing cause i'm dumb & forgot to set it up properly, so yadda yadda her siren hair is magical looking & now its not, so jon isn't a complete idiot for not recognising her.
> 
> next one coming soon! (...i mean it this time)
> 
> targaryen_blake on twitter


	7. questions i have for a sinner like me

Jon’s never killed a begging siren before. The creatures are usually fierce until the end, none have ever pleaded to die before. Yes, she also tried to kill him in her last moments but still, the situation was confusing him. Usually he felt a sense of accomplishment, if nothing else, after killing a siren. One less siren in the sea is another human safe. But not this time. This time he felt unnerved and cold. 

Without fail there’s an anger that roils through him every time he has to encounter one of them, a simmering rage that fuels him, that keeps him from feeling vacant. That reminds him that, yes, he is still a living, breathing person even though most of the time he feels like a ghost in the mortal world. It never sticks around for long but this time it didn’t come at all. There was no brief reprieve from the emptiness. The experience was more vicious than most and yet he feels oddly sad at having killed her. He feels childlike, in need of comfort, although even thinking it seems ridiculous, _he_ was the one still alive. But Jon feels as if he lost something in that encounter, a piece of him chipped away of what little he has left. 

His father’s words reverberated around his head. He always cautioned his children against painting an entire species the same way. “Aren’t humans complicated and different from one another in as many ways as you can imagine? Why would sirens be any different?” He would say. 

That was before he had been killed by one. Before Robb and Talisa too. The past few years of his life have been shaped entirely around this fight and he doesn’t want to think off any display of humanity from a species who are decidedly inhuman. _My anger is righteous_, he tells himself, _this is just an off day. _

A really off day. While most of his crew mill about, some actually doing their jobs, some have decided to gather around him and yell their unasked-for opinions in his ears.

He thinks of himself as a fairly diplomatic leader but right now all he needs is some peace and quiet. 

Opinions are divided, but they all have an opinion on their newcomer. Styr believes she should be thrown back overboard, as he keeps mentioning _repeatedly_. He’s not so sure why Styr thinks his thoughts on the situation are wanted. The man seems to have invited himself to their inner circle. 

While Jon was busy trying not to die-by-siren and his crew were trying to shoot at her without shooting him, Daenerys apparently did nothing. As they tell him, the knife was by her, a scant few feet away. And she did nothing. 

It doesn’t surprise him, really. She’s not a part of their crew, why should she join the fray when chaos erupted? If there’s one thing they share in common, it’s a lack of respect for Jon’s life. In the immediate aftermath of the attack when Tormund said she needed to be locked up, an upset Arya reluctantly agreeing with him, he was too tired to argue. He trusted his crew more than her, if they thought she was dangerous he would lock her up for their peace of mind. It seems it’s not her actions that are bothering them though, it was her inaction.

“I don’t trust her far as I can throw her,” Tormund says. Funny, he said the same thing of Jon once. Even funnier to Jon, this is the first time he and Styr have agreed on anything. 

“Maybe she was frightened by the sight,” Karsi tried to argue.

“She said she’s from a family of siren hunters,” Arya says, “I overheard her telling Jon. Whatever she was feeling, I doubt that’s her first time seeing a siren die.” Jon agreed with her logic.

“Look, I don’t think we leave her to drown like Ser Friendly over there,” she nods towards Styr, “but we have to be careful. If anyone else on the crew froze up like that there’d be questions.”

“But she’s not a part of our crew,” Gendry joins in, seeming more cautious on this topic like Karsi.

“Exactly. We don’t know her like we know everyone else, so we can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. She might be injured but she’s not weak. And maybe it was all more bloody than she’s used to but judging by those bruises I doubt it.” They’re silent as they think about that. It’s hard to forget the rainbow of bruises that painted her skin when they hauled her on deck. Why she reacted the way she did, he can’t be sure. But he’s sure she’s no stranger to violence. When he thinks on it, a dark part of him recognized that in her the moment after she first slapped him and smirked before passing out. One who reacts in anger instead of gratitude after being rescued is not one whose had a peaceful life.

“You’re the one who was saying she might join the crew,” Gendry mutters

“Before her just standing there almost got my brother killed!” Arya snaps back. Gendry softens his stiff posture and puts an arm around her. “I just want us to be careful, not saying we should make her walk the plank.” Gendry snorts at that as he rubs her back.

Guilt floods through Jon seeing his sister so obviously trying to hide her distress. How many times has she watched him dive headfirst into danger, sometimes literally? This was not his nearest death experience, not even close, those happened when he was in the Night’s Watch and far away from his family. But that doesn’t change how difficult it must be to witness. He tries to put himself in her shoes for a moment and imagine her being clawed and mauled. He feels sick just at the thought, sick and angrier than he could imagine possible. 

“Davos, what do you think?” Jon asks. Davos is one of the most level-headed men he’s ever known, while knowing his sister is upset has his mind is mostly made up about what he’s going to do, it’s never hurt to get Davos’ opinion on a matter.

Davos, to his credit, takes a minute, thinking it all over.

“I think we barely know her at all. She’s a stranger, pure and simple. So, we shouldn’t judge her too kindly, as if she were one of our own, or too harshly, as if she were the siren trying to kill Jon herself. She didn’t react the way you wanted her to and there could be a thousand reasons why, most of them reasonable. What happened to her is tragic, no doubt about that, but we don’t know how she feels about it. If she longs to return home despite the circumstances or if she’s looking for a new home…with people who know better than to hold every flaw against one another. At this point, knowing so little, it would be foolish to paint her as an enemy _or_ an ally.”

Jon heaved a sigh. Davos was right, obviously, but he was in no mood for complex moral quandaries. He wanted a simple answer but he long ago learned those didn’t exist. 

“I’ll go talk to our guest. Back to work.” He hears them take a collective breath before they start yelling caution at him, he pulls his blade from his belt in answer. “I’ll be fine. Go.” They scurry off to find things to do, Arya throwing a loving glare at him. Every step aches. His body is littered with scratches, both shallow and deep, the deep ones already stitched up. 

He’d love to take some milk of the poppy but needs to keep his head together, to be a leader. He already feels weakened. His whole crew almost saw him get killed by a half-dead siren when he’s supposedly the best siren hunter in the world. He doesn’t need his thoughts to be made any fuzzier than they already are.

He can hear Davos escorting him below deck, though there’s no need. He’s about to unlock the door when Davos places a hand on his shoulder, handing him a lantern off the wall

“Don’t worry, I won’t let my guard down, won’t be too nice.”

“I’d never accuse you of being too nice, Captain.” The ever-present mirth in his eyes fades quickly. “Be careful Jon, treat someone too much like your enemy and they might become one.” With that, he leaves. Jon decides to be marginally polite and warn her he’s coming in. He thumps the door a few times before unlocking it and slowly entering. The room is pitch black so he grabs a lantern off the wall from the cramped hallway and hangs it just inside the door, before he turns and takes a glance at her.

When he does, she looks dejected. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel to see her like this. He can be ruthless when he needs to be, he’s adept at cutting ties on his emotions when they’re inconvenient to him. Still his heart pangs at this woman, who was in his face even when exhausted and injured, huddled in a corner with her arms wrapped around her knees, hunched into a ball looking so small she could disappear. 

They look at each other, silence going from awkward to hostile and back to awkward.

“Why are you keeping me down here?” Her voice is both airy and scratchy. By the bruises on her neck he can guess that she was strangled. But there’s a soft tone under that which proves her not to be a native speaker of the Common Tongue. Mostly he’s surprised there’s little anger in the question, just curiosity. He tries to take Davos’ advice, not be coddling or too belligerent. 

“I still have some questions for you.”

“What else could you possibly need to know?”

“I want us to go over what you’ve already told me,” he tells her, sliding down the wall opposite her. He flips open his compass and rests it on his lap. “Where are you from?”

She rolls her eyes, “Ibben.” The compass indicates a lie.

“You sure?” He hears the snap in his own voice. _Great, I’m already failing at not being to hostile._

“Where are you from, King Jon?” She asks mockingly, “From the North or of the sea since it’s where you spend most of your time from what I’ve heard. I hate to compare us but we both have one thing in common, open waters are where we belong.”

Neither a truth or a lie.

“Why did I find you out there?”

“I was left.”

“By who?”

“My brother. The only family I have left.” The needle points north, a truth.

“Why would he do that?”

It’s what he does. He uses people, discards them. When he loves you it’s like feeling the sun on your face after weeks of darkness, but when he casts you aside there is no colder feeling. He hasn’t loved me in some time, but I kept hanging on until I was thrown.” He doesn’t need to look at the compass. He knows she’s telling the truth.

Her voice is choked, her eyes welling. Jon can see her reluctance at sharing this with him. Her words spilled out and now she presses her lips together to stop any more from coming forth. Those feelings must have been locked up inside her for some time for her to indulge in him of all people. 

The room is uneasy, and Jon wants nothing more to leave it at that, but a sad family life doesn’t mean she can be trusted. His crew trusts in him and he won’t throw it away because he feels bad for her.

“Tell me about your family.”

She takes a moment, a few shaky deep breaths. When she speaks again, her voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. He thinks he prefers it when she’s angry. “We were glorious once, or so I’m told. But we’ve died out quite spectacularly.”

“What’s your family name?”

“We don’t have family names in Ibben.” Jon knows so little of that side of the world, he can’t tell whether that’s true and neither can the compass.

“Bastards must love it there,” he scoffs bitterly.

“Bastard?” She sounds the word out like she’s never heard it before. Maybe she hasn’t. “What’s a bastard?

“It’s when someone’s mother and father weren’t married when the child was born. They don’t take their father’s name; they’re given one based on where they’re from. I suppose they don’t where you’re from though.

“Oh,” she frowns at that, almost pouting and brows furrowing. “Why does that need a name? Is it so uncommon?” 

“Not as uncommon as it should be, no.” He clears his throat, “Well, names aside, why have I never heard of glorious siren hunters from Ibben?”

“Your world is not at the centre of everything. Nor is mine, though it’s easy to think that. We prefer to keep our exploits quiet, under the surface.” The compass still wavers. So little of what she says is straight forward and his already pounding headache worsens. 

“I know little of Ibben but I know it’s far away, what were you doing this side of the world?” Jon hopes if he keeps abruptly changing the topic, he can catch her out in a lie. 

“My brother always wants more than what he has. He’s never been satisfied. More control, more fear, more adoration,” she spits the last word, her disgust evident. The compass returns north.

“My crew are rather upset with you, you could have saved me precious seconds if you’d kicked me the knife.”

“You’re still breathing, aren’t you? What difference does it make?”

He suppresses an amused smile at that. “All the same, they’re curious how a siren hunter froze up at the sight of a siren attack.”

“I’m not a siren hunter, I’m from a family of siren hunters. Not that I’ve never killed one, it’s just not my passion in life as it seems to be yours.” He’d be a fool not to hear the anger in her voice now. “Why would I jump to save you? Can you truly say you’d do the same thing for me?”

“I did jump into potentially siren infested waters to save you, so aye I can say that.” He hopes Davos hasn’t come to listen at the door and hear Jon throw away his good advice.

They’re back to glaring at each other. She shifts her legs out in front of her and he finally notices she’s still wearing only his shirt. He hates himself a little for taking a quick glance at her legs. He might have pulled the woman out naked from the sea but he’s not a monster, she was vulnerable, and he wasn’t about to ogle an unconscious woman. 

Here though, he’s in his ship, with a crew he cultivated, and she is, at this point, his captive. He should have all the power here, so why does he feel like the vulnerable one?

Deciding to break their stare and hoping she didn’t notice his quick perusal of her, he asks “Why should I allow you amongst my crew? How do I trust if something happens you won’t put me in danger?”

Her eyes flash dangerously, and she leans forward now, no longer in a defensive position, “I wonder why it’s my fault that your supposedly faultless crew couldn’t rescue you from one siren. They were all armed but yet they were too afraid of harming their precious captain that you ended up,” she gestures to his stitched forearms, “well, harmed.” 

“Gods forbid they care enough that they didn’t want to kill me,” he snaps back sarcastically. “Loyalty mustn’t be a thing on your ship.” 

He hates the words as soon as he says them. Yes, she infuriates him, but he didn’t intend to throw her assault at her brother’s hand back in her face. He feels worse when no shock or hurt registers on her face, as if she expected the low comment from him.

“No, it isn’t. My brother would go through everything or anyone to get what he wants.” She pulls her knees back in front of her. “If you’re worried about him encroaching on your territory, you needn’t. He was just passing through.” He looks back to the compass, it wavers between north and south again, closer to a lie.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“You’re worried I’m going to try and kill your crew all because I reacted poorly in the moment.” There’s a bite in her tone he feels not undeserving of. “It’s not as if I had almost been beaten to death by my brother then left to almost drown or die of thirst, how dare I not be brave and rush to the captain’s defence.” 

“I’m not worried you’re going to kill my crew, they can defend themselves.”

“Then, as I asked before, why am I down here?” She asks him haughtily.

That he didn’t know how to answer. This situation is not one he’d had practice in. His crew are a mash-up of bastards and wildlings, former pirates and reformed criminals, but they’ve never pulled someone out of the ocean before, not someone living anyway. They’ve come across shipwrecks from siren attacks a few times. Some bodies with hearts ripped out, most drowned. 

Then there’s the fact that in their brief interactions she can be haughty, almost smug at times. Like she takes enjoyment from his discomfort. Jon knows everyone reacts differently to trauma, that there’s no right or wrong way. But still he feels as if he’s only seeing half of the picture.

He cares less about the fact she didn’t aid him when he was being attacked. She makes a good point, she had been assaulted and then witnessed a brutal assault. Arya’s right that Daenerys is unlikely to be naïve in the face of violence, but that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t tense up seeing something similar to what she recently experienced, at the hands of someone who’s meant to love her no less. His crew have such fidelity towards him and in this instance he thinks they’re possibly being too harsh. 

All that considered, Jon knows he’s not going to trust her. He barely trusts anyone, not in the true sense, where you can share your vulnerability with someone. But he’s not sure he can even trust her on his ship. She’s smart and he thinks her culture’s approach to sirens is probably very different than his. She might not think she knows anything about the siren horn, but they could use all the help they could get. At the same time, he thinks questioning her would be a waste of time. There are things she’s obviously lying about. They’re at a stale mate, he doesn’t trust her, and she doesn’t trust him. 

He could leave it up to the crew but they have a close-knit dynamic and it didn’t happen overnight. Some of them trust her, others wouldn’t dream of doing so. The last thing he wants is them dividing on the issue over someone who shouldn’t even be their concern. But coincidence brought them together and he can’t ignore her existence.

His head throbs and he has to pare down the decision he has to make to its simplest form.

Either he lets her wander free amongst the crew, at least until they reach their first stop, and potentially see hostility grow between his crew, or he keeps her a prisoner a while longer which will undoubtedly piss off and sow more distrust with someone whose help he could potentially need in the journey to find the siren horn.

The comfort of his crew versus a stranger.

When he puts it like that, the decision is easy.

Jon gets to his feet, “Can I trust you not to use the lantern and burn my ship down?”

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave me in here indefinitely?” 

“No, not indefinitely. If the seas are good, we should reach Storm’s End in three days. Then you can either be truthful or go your own way. Until then, you stay here. I’ll have someone bring you food and warmer clothes.” 

“Wait!” She calls out to him as he wrenches open the door, hoping if he acts with conviction, he might start to feel it. He ignores his gut instinct that he’s doing the wrong thing and doesn’t look back as he locks the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but the next ones gonna be thick, jon & dany start to feel things and they don't like it.
> 
> i don't know why i decided to have all the chapter names from florence & the machine stormy/sea-ish themed songs but i did and now i'm stuck.
> 
> i'll update asap
> 
> targaryen_blake on twitter


	8. a heavy choice to make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuses, sorry.

Stuck in that dank room, pacing back and forth, and getting quite good at it she thinks to herself, Daenerys has nothing but time to think about the situation she’s found herself stuck in. All because of Viserys. There’s been nothing but chaos since the moment she awoke on the ship and was questioned by the crew, no time to stop and examine her brother’s words. The ones he’d spat at her while she was dying. 

No, not dying. _Changing. _

He didn’t want her dead, not yet anyway. He wanted her trapped with no way out except helping him. She was never averse to the idea of taking the king’s heart, but she didn’t want to do it for Viserys. To help him cement his rule, to leave no hope for change within Valyria and all of the sea. It didn’t seem she had a choice now. 

She had no concrete plans, only a goal she had to reach. She had to find a way to kill the king and take his heart. He’d need to at quite the disadvantage for her to kill him, she was under no delusion that her human form was as strong as her siren one. She’d need to be far enough away from the crew that she could sneak away and not be killed by them in retaliation. And she’d likely need to be close to water so she could make a quick getaway and hope that Viserys’ power as the Sea King would enable him to know the moment that she hits the water with the king’s heart. She didn’t fancy drowning waiting for him to appear.

The ship was out as an option. It enabled a quick escape route but for such a large vessel it was likely still too cramped for her to get the king isolated enough that no one would hear a struggle. Not to mention the fact she was currently a prisoner. The first thing she had to do was gain their trust enough to let her out, but they weren’t going to do that until they reached Storm’s End, the home of the dead king who had killed King Rhaegar. Stepping on their shores would feel almost sacrilegious; though she was currently on two feet and planning on befriending humans, even if for her own gain, so she’d already disgraced her siren nature. A little more wouldn’t hurt. 

Daenerys had the first step of a plan at least, gain enough trust to be kept around, and not as a prisoner. If she ended up in shackles, then there’d be no hope. For getting the king alone…she could always try and seduce Jon, she was a siren after all.

She’d barely finished the thought before she laughed aloud. _No_, there would be no seducing the king. Not only would it be a burn to her pride to have to sink to such depths, but by the looks of him she wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling desire. 

Pacing back and forth for hours with little result had exhaustion dragging her down. She needed to be prepared but there was no point overthinking when she was still a prisoner. Daenerys had no wish to drag this out but nor could she rush it. Her focus now was on regaining the little trust she’d been shown by some of the crew initially. There wasn’t affection or friendliness there but there was a mild comradery before she froze up at seeing Doreah die. She only needed an inch at first, not a mile. 

Slinking down in what’s become her favoured corner, she peruses what’s become her home for the past few days. The room’s muggy and small, the humidity doing things to her hair that it never would if she were still a siren. She might miss her hair more than her tail. She missed seeing the colours reflected of its silvery surface. Not that there was much colour in here anyway. The room a dull brown, appearing even duller by the little light from the sconce on the wall. She was briefly tempted to smash it on the floor and set the whole ship aflame but decided against it. It might be satisfying in the moment before she realised she was in a locked room and would be the first to die. 

The room as a whole she felt reflected the personality of the captain; dour, gloomy and lacking in character.

Resting her eyes, her thoughts drift to Viserys. She never knew he had such abilities, never seen him wield them. He’s always been quick to anger and lash out. That he’s been able to keep it under wraps is a frightening thought. Either they’re new to him and are something he’s recently learned or he’s far more calculated than she could have ever guessed. She knew that side of him existed, was introduced to it when he married her off with little warning. He’d been planning it for a while, while she was only informed a few days prior to the union ceremony. But she could always rely on his tempestuousness. It was a horrific cycle she had to endure but a predictable one. 

He was growing stronger and more dangerous or he had always been dangerous and careful to conceal it. Neither were good options. 

Her heart hurt as it always did when thinking of him, of who he was, who he could have become. It hurt even more to think of who he had actually become. A monster in the darkness, using her for his whims. She tried to get the image of him staring passively at her as she choked on water, bile and blood, as she was ripped apart and remade. But it stuck with her as she drifted into a restless sleep. 

Finally, someone comes to escort her above deck. Her eyes burn in the light after living in the dark for four days, with only a tiny lantern not bright enough to light the tiny room and the occasional sliver of light when her meals came.

She’s wearing the outfit that Tormund tossed at her along with her first meal. It’s long and white with a belt that can be cinched at the waist. There are women on the crew but from the brief glance she got at them she can’t imagine any of them wanting to wear this…unique dress. _Maybe I’m being too harsh_, she thinks to herself, _it’s not as if I’ve ever worn clothes before today_. She doesn’t see why this is more appropriate than what she wore before, it’s the same material only longer and a different colour than the king’s shirt. Humans are _very_ modest, it seems

Daenerys is mostly ignored by the crew as she joins them on deck, a few giving her nods. The king doesn’t even look at her, eyes focused on the horizon. She stands at the taffrails, looking at the place where she’ll first set foot on land. Her heart jumps anxiously just thinking about it. She never had any preparation for this moment. Never even the slightest belief she’d ever be here. Aside from childhood games, where sirens and humans were the best of friends, she had no desire to walk the land either. 

As the ship comes closer to land, she sees that the Stormlands are only marginally less grey than the North was. Sitting high atop a cliff are the smoky remains of the former castle. Word had spread even to Valyria when it burnt down. Sirens out luring sailors could see the smoke from miles out. 

She has no idea what their plan is here and thinks too many questions may make her appear suspicious. But by fading into the background, as much as she can with the somewhat scornful looks thrown her way by some, she manages to overhear some useful information.

It seems King Jon will be meeting with King Renly. To what end, she doesn’t know. But it seems his crew doesn’t know either. From first impressions, they have a blind trust in him. She’s never known blind trust to be a good thing.

They drop anchor a small way out from the docks, the smaller boats being lowered into the water for travel. Fear grips at the thought of being left behind, of not being able to take any action. 

The king, as if sensing her thoughts, turns to look at her. Dark brown eyes doing a quick up and down look at her, he nods to where the boats have been lowered. “You’re coming with us.”

Daenerys tries very hard not to freak out about walking on land. A large part of her is tempted to take off her boots and wiggle her newly acquired toes in the dirt but even she knows that would be odd. 

A dozen of them are on this trip, the rest of the Ghost’s crew staying on the ship. She doesn’t know where they’re going, only that it will be ‘a few days’ according to Davos, one of the few willing to talk to her. The people Jon’s brought with him seem to be his inner circle. She is not naïve enough to believe that’s why he brought her, only wondering if he doesn’t trust his crew with her, or her with his crew.

They walk through a ghost town. It reminds her a little of the Tyrell’s settlement after the Tarly’s betrayed their truce. A place where life has ceased to exist. The absolute presence of absence. 

Here, some people still remain, older couples. Men with worn faces untangle nets outside shabby old cottages. The people who were unable or unwilling to move on with everyone else. 

As they draw further from the castle, she sees a dark-haired man with a gaunt face, swallowed up in a thick jumper that hangs off his frame. He sits gutting fish next to a stream and a young woman next to him washes clothes in it, a baby strapped to her back. For reasons unbeknownst even to her, she catches their eyes and gives them a wide smile, which they return hesitantly. If they know what she really was, they’d no doubt want to gut her like one of their fish, but she forges ahead.

“Are you selling?”

“Sorry, miss?” The man responds with a gruff voice.

“We’re on a journey, you see, and I’m not sure how long we’ll be walking. I was wondering if you would sell us some of your fish, so we needn’t go hungry. Not too much of course, we won’t take your dinner from you.” 

The man and young woman share a look, seeming to wonder if she’s being serious. 

“Um…of course, miss.” The young woman responds, hopeful and yet disbelieving.

“Perfect. Captain!” Daenerys calls after Jon, further downstream, Davos being the only one who noticed she stayed behind. 

Jon turns, raising his eyebrow only the barest fraction. 

“I need coin to buy us fish for our journey.” A part of her expects him to be dismissive, annoyed even. After all, he didn’t stop for them. But she sees his eyes wander over to the pair, as if first noticing them. 

“A dozen if you will.” Jon says, as he draws closer. The man and his wife set about wrapping a dozen fish in thick, clean leaves as fast as they can. Davos packs the pile up in his satchel while Jon hands over a bundle of coin to the young mother, the baby cooing excitedly on her back, as if sensing their mother’s emotions.

Daenerys only knows the bare minimum of how human money works, learned from Missandei, but she knows that he is overpaying them and then some. 

The gaunt man puts a hand out as if to refuse the kindness but Jon only shakes it and thanks him before setting out.

She’s pleasantly surprised at how he acted but shuts down any warm feelings. He did a bare minimum kindness and shouldn’t be rewarded for it, she tells herself, as they march further in-land, leaving the coast behind. 

After hours of walking she’s growing to resent these short legs she has. _Obviously_ she’s not as practiced in the art of walking as the others but it shouldn’t be this tiring, surely. 

Trailing behind the others, she felt left behind but couldn’t bring herself to be sad about it. They were a unit and she was the interloper, of course she didn’t belong with them. The way they jostled and teased, ribbed and cajoled each other. They behaved less like a crew and more like friends. No more than friends, they were like a family. Or what she imagined one to be. 

It had been so long since her family was more than just her and Viserys. When both her parents had been alive the normal family moments were always overtaken by her father’s madness and cruelty towards her mother. On the run, despite the fear, she always felt close to Arthur and Willem. Were they her family? She thought so. Did it matter that they were subjects and not relatives or did it make their connection more meaningful that instead of choosing to stay and defend the throne they were sworn to, they chose to leave all comforts and live in squalor and constant desperation with them? She used to think it was just honour and duty, but she recalls warmth and kindness from them both that was never present in her father. 

She supposed the way they interacted with one another reminded her more of how she was with her friends more than how she was with Viserys. And wasn’t that the truth of it? That even though Viserys tried to belittle her relationships with her friends, they were more family than he had been to her in a long time. Her brothers were Grey Worm and Qhono, her sisters Missandei and Irri. She would choose them even if her childhood was idyllic, if Viserys was still the kind brother she knew. They were hers, and she was theirs and there was no life where she would give them up.

She trawled behind the crew of the _Ghost_, feeling less isolated as she comforts herself with memories of her own adventures. As she reminds herself what she’s fighting to get back to. Even if she has to destroy the dynamic in front of her to get there. Because Daenerys has no doubt, as quiet and sullen as he seems, that the death of their captain would tear these people apart. She doesn’t have a choice though, he’s a killer of her kind and he’s not going to stop _and_ there is no option where she can go home while he’s still breathing. She can’t feel bad for them, her decision has been made for her, thanks to Viserys. 

They pass a few small settlements, a ways off but still in sight of the path they walk, but stop only briefly to start a small fire and eat their newly acquired fish before continuing on. The king seems hesitant to stop for any length of time. Whatever it is he’s going to do, he’s anxious to have it over quickly.

They walk until the sun goes down and even Jon has to call it a night. Stopping in a wood clearing not far from the road, Davos starts a fire, Arya starts roasting the few rabbits they caught on the way and the one she learns is called Pyp plays a tune on a lute. She doesn’t know how the humans can eat rabbits; they look so sweet and innocent. But her stomach growls and she gives in to temptation, only remembering to feel guilty after her stomach is full. 

She keeps to herself as they drink and tell jokes, mostly reminiscing on adventures they’ve been on. After a while, Tormund, the big ginger obnoxious one who keeps throwing her scathing looks, suggests a spar with one of the others, whose name she hasn’t bothered to learn. Everyone moves back to clear a space as they tumble around and half-heartedly try to strike at one another. 

Daenerys’ style of fighting is a lot different than theirs is but she needs to try and ingratiate herself somehow so reluctantly she stands, “I’d like to try.”

Tormund turns his gaze on her, his voice a scratchy rumble, “You know how to fight, little one?”

“No, but I’d like to learn.”

Tormund shares a wry smile with Styr. “Well, the best way to learn is by doing.” 

Karsi hands her a short blade with a hefty grip as she passes. “Do us a favour and shut him up for once.”

She turns the blade over from hand to hand, trying to decide what feels right. Tormund eyes her up and down as if looking for weak spots. At the height advantage he has, she fears she’s nothing _but_ weak spots.

He swings his blade in an arc in front of him and she barely dodges back before he swings it around to his left. She moves away just in time but some of her hair swinging out behind her is not so lucky.

“No swords,” Jon says, somehow loud enough for her to hear over the pounding in her heart.

“The girl wants to spar, captain,” Tormund replies with an easy grin on his face.

“Aye, _spar_. Not get her head cut off. If you’re not going to teach, then no swords.”

“Fine,” Tormund replies, throwing his sword down gently, “no swords.”

Daenerys does the same and a moment later finds herself tossed to the ground.

“Come on little one, show us the fire.”

_I’ll show you fire, you great oaf._

Springing to her feet, she leaps around him, hoping to tire him by avoidance. It’s not a tactic she would use in the water but she doesn’t have her own advantages, she needs to make new ones.

She may not have her tail, her speed and strength, or her voice but she is still a Targaryen. The last thing she’ll do is shy away from a fight.

Just as she’s feeling a little confident, he reaches out and grabs her arm, pulling her forcefully against him, right on the tips of her toes. She doesn’t hesitate and lifts her elbow, aiming savagely for his nose. 

Expecting to hear the crunch of bones breaking, instead she hears herself make impact on the ground.

She’s been thrown on her arse. Again. 

Now she really feels the fire stirring. 

“That’s enough Tormund,” Jon calls out behind them.

“I can keep going!” She insists, jumping to her feet. “I won’t learn otherwise.”

He gives her a long look. “I’ll spar with you then,” he says removing his sword from its scabbard. 

Tormund rolls his eyes and retakes his seat and Daenerys picks up Karsi’s blade which is fairly unimpressive compared to the one Jon holds. It even looks to be Valyrian steel. With her limited knowledge of the human world, she still knows how rare it is. 

If the stories are true, it can only be forged in the volcanic pools near the old land kingdom Valyria, that the siren kingdom took its name from. It’s apparently the only substance that can survive it but whatever magic was used in the forgery has long been lost. The risk for humans to even try to reach the volcanic pools wouldn’t be worth it even if they did know the magic. They’d have to fend off rough seas, the much larger volcanic islands and worst of all, a kingdom of sirens. 

The ripples in the smoky coloured blade transfixes her. As does the way Jon wields it. Spinning it around in his hands as he warms up. 

He moves impressively, quickly and before she knows what he’s doing, the tip of his sword is under her chin. “You’ll have to actually move,” he mutters dryly, so only she can hear.

Clearing her throat, a little embarrassed she was too busy staring to move, she attempts her own manoeuvre. As he steps back, she swings low as if for his legs but is blocked. 

She’s not really trying to hit him. It wouldn’t be very subtle to kill him in front of his crew and then claim an accident. _Sorry for you loss, but may I borrow his heart?_

There’s also the truth that she wouldn’t be able to hit him if she tried. 

She goes for his chest, shoulder, stomach. And he blocks her again and again. Each time managing to give her a smack with the flat of the blade, as the others had when sparring. It’s not hard enough to bruise, just a sharp sting that disappears just as quickly as it came. 

She tries to be unexpected, and quickly aims the sword down, as if to stab him in the foot.  
But he blocks her, yet again, and using the momentum of his blade on hers manages to spin her around completely. Before she can regain her balance, he has her sword arm in a lock above her head, she has no motion in her shoulder to strike him.

They’re face to face, almost nose to nose. “What’s the plan, Daenerys?”

The question shocks her. But there’s no possible way he knows what she is. What she had to do.

Heart ratcheting, she asks, “What do you mean?”

“You want to spar with us, you want to learn from us. What’s the plan? Do you want to be one of us now?”

She gulps and his eyes momentarily drop to her throat and then back to her eyes. “I’d like to stay. I have nowhere else to go.”

He doesn’t respond and looks almost disappointed by her answer. She tries to move her shoulder again but it’s still stuck in a tight grip. 

But he never said it had to be a clean, fair fight. Tormund definitely hadn’t fought cleanly. 

So, she raises her knee hard into his stomach. He pulls back only slightly but it gives her enough movement to hit him on the head with the hilt. Not too hard, but not a soft touch either. He drops her arm altogether, slightly hunched over, one hand rubbing his head. 

Silence rings out in the clearing. She waits to see if one of them is going to gut her for daring to touch their captain. Before any of them can make a move on her, Jon releases the smallest of breathy laughs, “It’s not quite what I was trying to teach you,” he says, straightening, “but in a fight anything goes.”

Any tension in the air dissolves quickly after that, Daenerys and Jon sitting down again as others take up the space and spar. 

Eventually, tiredness settles in and people lie down to sleep where they sit, so Daenerys follows suit. She feels restless, too many thoughts and potential plans whirring through her mind. Rolling onto her back she looks at the stars. 

It’s hardly her first time seeing them – night is the best time to hunt after all – but she’s never taken the time to truly appreciate how beautiful they are. Her heart is usually thrumming, preparing to kill, to enchant, to fight when she’s out in the night air. She knows human have beliefs about what the stars mean but in that moment she doesn’t want to complicate such an awe-worthy sight. She lets the peacefulness of the night sky, and the soft snores of her companions lull her into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

He hears his crew behind him as he leads the way down the newly built road. They pass small villages, the scent of cooked meat on the breeze, smoke coming out of chimneys and children splashing and playing in one of the many streams that lead off from the river. 

The place seems more peaceful than when he was last here. It was a brief stop, not long after the deaths of Stannis and his household. King Renly was ruling from a small stronghold, the country was in chaos, between those who felt their king betrayed them by leaning on a foreign religion and those who had converted and wished for there to be respect for their chosen beliefs. An impossible situation to balance but at least a civil war hadn’t broken out. Yet. 

Jon never usually ventured this far into the countries he visited. He wasn’t a king who enjoyed dallying with other royals. 

At the next village they reach, Jon decides to cut their journey short and hires horses for the remains of it. The local stable master prattles on about his good breed, how he couldn’t have chosen a better place to hire horses from but shuts up as soon as Jon hands him a bag of gold. He promises to take good care of the horses in the day or two they’ll be gone. The stable master looks, now, as if he couldn’t care if he ever saw the horses again, too enraptured with his precious bag of payment.

There aren’t enough horses for each of them, so they double up. Everyone seems to have found a partner and are saddling up when he sees Daenerys awkwardly dawdling at the side of the stables. _Guess she’s my riding partner for the day_ he inwardly sighs. 

“Here,” he calls to her a little too brusquely, nodding towards himself. “You’re with me.” She scowls and even he can’t blame her. 

Daenerys looks bewildered by the beast, a grand stallion named Silver, the proud stable master told him. She cautiously takes a step towards Silver and gently rests a hand on his nose. He huffs at her and a bright smile crosses her face. She catches him watching and her smile drops. His cheeks heat at being caught but when he glances at her again, any coldness in her expression has disappeared as Silver nuzzles into her hand. 

“Surely you’ve seen a horse before.” He curses himself inwardly for sounding so terse.

Her spine stiffens but she doesn’t turn to him, “There aren’t many in Ibben. I’ve never had the opportunity to ride one.”

_Aren’t many horses?_ This place sounds stranger every time she talks about it. 

He helps her up onto the horse, before swinging on behind her. Her shapely, unable to ignore body, plastered against his front. His forearms resting against her hips as he reaches around her to hold the reins. He may not have thought this one through. 

Ever since she’s been let out of their makeshift cell, he’s been finding it hard not to notice her. He brought her with them fully intending to leave her at Storm’s End but everything was deserted, no place to abandon someone, so he bit his tongue. He’s still planning to cut her loose when they get to the newer settlement, near Summerhall, but feels an edge of guilt creeping in. She’s not been difficult, not really. She’s not been friendly towards him but nor has he to her. 

But he remembers the way she threw herself, literally, into fighting he and Tormund. How there was flashes of life in her eyes instead of the cold imperiousness he usually sees. How she stopped for the fisherman and his wife when he was too lost in his thoughts to even notice. How she was smiling softly at the stars when he glanced at her the night before.

_It doesn’t change anything,_ he internally scolds himself.

He has a ragtag crew, many of whom he didn’t trust at first but his gut instinct says there’s something more going on than Daenerys is telling. He can’t judge her for keeping things close to her chest, he’s the same. But even her truths seem couched in lies and on a mission so important he can’t risk taking on a new crew member for a trial and error period as he’s done so before. He had to keep her at arm’s length. 

_Instead_, she was wrapped up in his arms. 

They ride on in awkward silence. Awkward for him, he realises after a moment. She seems quite content to look over the countryside. From her side profile which every so often scans from left to right she seems to be relishing everything her eyes take in, like it’s the first time. She didn’t seem the optimistic type at first, she hides it well. 

“Am I bothering you?” She asks when she catches him looking. 

“No, you’re not bothering me.” 

“Pity.”

He tries to stifle a small laugh but is pretty sure she feels it through his chest and laughs in return. 

“Am I on your crew yet?” She asks, cutting his laugh short.

“When we get to Summerhall, we can discuss your future.”

“Discuss it?”

“If you want to stay with us you need to be useful, you can’t just take up space.”

“You are the ones who put me below deck. In a cell,” she bites back at him.

“It’s not healthy to hold grudges.”

“You only let me out yesterday!” He can feel her huff in front of him.

“Like I said, we’ll discuss it.” He says, knowing there’s little to discuss. He could have told her his plans there and then, but it seemed unwise when they were stuck together for hours more. 

The rest of the ride is content, if not warm. Daenerys, still focusing on the forests and fields, rivers and lakes they pass. He focuses on ignoring how she feels against him. Thankfully he has many worries to occupy his mind. 

Mostly the fact that most of his grand plan is still up in the air. He still has to find the necklace that Melisandre told him about, a supposedly vital part of his mission. He still had to deal with Melisandre, herself. He had to climb the most dangerous mountain in the world and hopefully bring an end to siren kind. Even just listing them made his brow sweat.

“Do you miss the sea when you’re away from it?” She breaks the silence, as they begin the final stretch to the new settlement, the sun starting to settle on the horizon.

“Yes, I suppose.” He coughs awkwardly, taken aback by the question. “Though we’re not very far from it now.” 

“This is the farthest I’ve ever been from the ocean,” she sighs. There’s a moment after a confession before he can feel her body tense up at volunteering information about herself.

“_This_ is the farthest? We’re barely two days in land.”

“Yes, well I’m from a nation made up of very small islands. There’s not much land for me to travel. I’m at home or exploring the seas. I’m never far away from it. I’ve never wanted to be,” she responds, voice tight with tension. 

The relaxed atmosphere between them is gone. It was only a matter of time, he supposes. She has her secrets and he has his. He’s not sure how they do things in Ibben but it’s clearly very different from the North. 

It’s hypocritical of him but he can’t help feel a little resentful at how reluctantly and, seemingly, regretfully she offers up information. He knows what it is to be a closed book but if any part of him was still considering offering her a place on the crew, as she has no place else, it’s gone now. Trusting your captain is a must. Jon might not confide in his crew, but they can always confide in him. Any possibility of that between he and Daenerys is impossible. 

Lights start to appear on the horizon as they near the Summerhall settlement, a new build a mile or so away from the old castle where the king now resides. He shoots a glance backwards and notices Gendry’s tense form. It’s never easy for him being here, knowing these people are family but not family. Everyone imagines about having a different life, but few get to see what the reality would actually be like. 

As the road tapers off into cobbled streets he sees that this isn’t just a village for castle workers to live in, it’s a large prospering town. Larger than any he’s seen in the Stormlands. While most businesses are shutting up for the night, the streets are still lively and he spots taverns and bakers, butchers and seamstresses. It seems King Renly has been busy building a place where his people could thrive. He doesn’t recall the old castle and its surrounding areas ever seeming so spirited. 

They make their way through the town and onto the path to Summerhall itself. The guards in their way don’t seem to believe him when he tells him that the King of the North has come to speak with their king. What kind of king doesn’t have an official royal escort? 

They only end up being allowed through when one of the guards changing shifts recognizes him from his last visit. 

Halfway up the road, with lanterns glowing in the distance, they dismount and are escorted on foot by another squadron of guards. They stick close to their side and he can’t exactly blame them. This is hardly the traditional royal visit. 

It seems when the new king was planning a rebuild for the new royal residence he chose to situate in a far less dreary location. Less dreary by its surroundings, not its history. 

Not much is known about Summerhall, only that hundreds of years ago, it too had burnt down. No one is entirely sure whose residence it used to be. Why King Renly chose to rebuild here instead of on the grounds of his family home, Jon has no idea. The surrounding area is nice though, with lush forestry and rolling rivers. It hardly seems like the Stormlands at all.

The castle, when it comes into view, is grand and unlike any other he’s ever seen. The rebuilt parts are obvious, whatever stone was used originally clearly no longer available. It’s beautiful but inconsistent, and for a reason he can’t name, he feels a profound sense of grief looking at its mismatched exterior. 

They’re taken into a vast marble entryway, and he’s never felt more unclean in his life. His gut instinct tells him that this room, too, was part of Renly’s rebuild. They’re both imposing, and exquisite but its like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. 

Something in Jon’s bones feels uneasy in this place. When he looks his crew over, he only sees fascination or mild disgust at the gaudiness of it all. 

Only Daenerys looks as uncomfortable as he does. They meet eyes, a shared discomfort passing between them before looking away.

“King Jon!” Renly’s voice echoes down one of the attached hallways. He’s in green doublet, tall and handsome and smiling, as if this unexpected visit is no imposition at all. If he was more like Stannis he’d be insulted. If he was like Robert he’d be too inebriated to get out of bed but instead he’s gregarious and unflappable. 

“What brings you my way?”

“I had some urgent business, unplanned business. I would have sent a letter but it wouldn’t have arrived much sooner than I would have.” _A lie, he’d been thinking on it since that day in the tavern with Melisandre._

“Well, it’s wonderful to see you again. To be graced by the famed White Wolf’s presence!”

As he spoke, Renly’s eyes passed over the crew. Jon saw him do a subtle double take when his eyes passed Gendry. The resemblance to his father was uncanny, it’s been said. Renly continued his pleasantries, but Jon ignored the words and only focused on the man’s eyes. How every so often they would return to Gendry, as if to continually confirm his suspicions. But he said nothing, made no move to introduce or embrace the man.

“It’s late and if we’re to do business as kings I think we both ought to be at our freshest,” Renly told him with a decisive clap of his hands. “Stay the evening and we’ll talk in the morning.” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the invitation extended only to him, and not his people.

“I thank you for the kind offer, your grace, but if you wish to speak in the morning then I will be staying in town with my crew,” Jon replied as politely as he could. “The inn has already been booked.” _Another lie._

They make hasty goodbyes and return to the peaceful, eerie dark road. He’s not sure whether to be irritated or relieved that he can put off this part of his plan for one more night. He settles on relief as the further they get from the palace the more Jon feels himself relaxing.

On the walk back into town Gendry’s shoulders were squared, his held high but every movement stiff. It’s not as if he wanted to be embraced by his father’s family. He had little love for highborn people, with only a few exceptions to that rule. He had less love for the Baratheon’s. His father may be lauded as a war hero, but Gendry once told him he hadn’t bought into the stories in a long time. 

Discounting the many other bastards Robert was rumoured to have, Renly is his last living blood relative. No matter Gendry’s distaste for his heritage and distrust for the highborns, to be summarily dismissed must hurt. He’d reach out to his friend but holds back, fearing he’ll only make it worse.

Renly might be a good king, a kind one. He might be a far better ruler than both his brothers in many ways, but he still views Gendry as a threat. Renly is no fool, only a quick look at Gendry would be enough to confirm him as Robert’s son. Acknowledging this though would be a threat to his own rule. Gendry is bastard born and not a learned man but, in a time, when Jon himself has been made king, Renly won’t be willing to even take a chance. Any small parts of Gendry that were holding out hope have now been eviscerated and Jon knows the feeling. 

For too long he held onto hope that people would see him differently, treat him differently. Even becoming king didn’t change that. It’s a hard and hurtful reality to face and he’s not happy Gendry has to go through it. He wishes his friend won’t isolate himself as Jon did, and go through it alone. It’s another cold lesson he learned, if you refuse to talk and push people away long enough, eventually it feels impossible to tell them much of anything. Anything that feels real, anyway.

After checking their horses in at a stable, he goes from inn to inn trying to find one big enough to fit them all at such a late hour. He’s being overly cautious, but he doesn’t want them to split up. He finds it easier to breathe, to think when he has all his people in one place. Where he doesn’t have to go far to make sure they’re safe. Not like he’d tell any of them that. They’d be likely to smack him for thinking they couldn’t handle themselves.

The next inn they come across is decidedly less wholesome than the others. It bares more than a passing resemblance to the three men who came stumbling out the door. The man in the middle weaving and wavering supported by his friends either side. The upper levels leaned at a precarious angle, with smaller bakery on one side and a shoemakers on the other. He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up to the roof sliding off the lower half of the building. 

Looking back at his people and Daenerys he realizes they all look fatigued. Daenerys especially, who seems to be trying hard to hide a grimace. She must be sore, especially if she’s never ridden a horse before.

This one will have to do. It’s a fair size at least. Even if it is a death trap.

He hands over a bundle of coin while the others weave around the narrow front desk to the tavern in the back.

“Drinks are on the captain,” Karsi calls out, swerving past him.

He doesn’t even try to contain his world-weary, long suffering, please-just-let-me-go-to-fucking-sleep sigh.

~~~

Daenerys couldn’t say she was enjoying her first time in a tavern, but neither was it as bad as she thought.

Overly loud with a pungent stench that doesn’t exist in the sea. But aside from that, the atmosphere was jolly. Perhaps too jolly.

“How does anyone sleep in this?”

“They get drunk enough that staying conscious isn’t an option,” Arya responds wryly.

“It’s supply and demand really,” Gendry adds. 

Jon after one ale, takes his leave, going upstairs and Daenerys may not care for his life but he looks dead on his feet and she’d really like him to survive long enough to tear his heart out.

As has become habit in the past few days, the _Ghost_ crew chat and laugh, mock and goad each other. 

She sits, quietly drinking her second ale, a buzz stirring in her veins. As the night wears on, more head up to sleep, leaving only a small handful of them. Everyone seems in good spirits, though Gendry’s seem a little forced. There’s a rigidity to him that there wasn’t before and Arya sticks close to him, comforting him in small ways. A casual intimacy between them that causes her to look away. It’s something she’s never had, not truly. With Drogo she forced herself to find joy in a bad situation, only when it was over did she see how fraudulent it was. Even with Daario, it was nothing like these two seem to have. 

She reminds herself it’s none of her business why any of them feel the way they do. None of her concern, more like.

Although it’s hard not to notice the wear on these people. They’re drinking and laughing but there’s exhaustion there too. Maybe it’s better for everyone if she takes Jon’s heart. His crew can go home, go live their lives.

She can taste the lie in her mouth even as she says it, and washes it out with more ale until her thoughts float away.

Her peace and happy buzz only lasts so long before her Styr catches notice of her smiling to herself, bopping her head to a song that a bundle of drunk men ramble their way through, from the opposite end of the tavern.

“Why are you still here? Thought the captain would have cut you loose already?”

“Maybe I’ll be joining the crew,” she responds, trying to infuse her voice with hope instead of dread.

He chokes a laugh out, like sand scraped from his throat, “Why would he let you do that?”

“Because I can help,” she responds simply.

“Help us? You found yourself all alone cause your only family didn’t want you and now you’re only looking to help yourself.”

Karsi bangs her head against the table and groans. “Couldn’t let us enjoy just one night, could you Styr?”

Daenerys ignores her. “Is there anyone alive who isn’t?”

“The captain.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “He’s doing this as much for himself as anyone else. He gets to be the hero of the world, be lauded by you all and not have to do the work of an actual king.”

All of them pause at that, Arya especially. In a moment Daenerys knows all the little friendly moments, like points in a game, she’d stored up have now been discounted.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, castaway.” Styr intones.

“Enlighten me then! What am I not seeing?” She tries to laugh, to bring back the joking and teasing between everyone. 

Instead they all exchange looks, a quiet debate happening amongst themselves.

Tormund lets out a loud belch before words spill out of his mouth almost too quickly and slurred to comprehend. “There’s a map you see, a fancy one. Captain had to propose before he could get his hands on it. Leads to the siren horn. We get that, we kill the sirens.”

Silence reigns at their corner table but the noise in her head is immense. 

_Siren horn? What is he talking about? It’s an old fairytale. No. He’s wrong. They’re on a doomed mission. This is laughable. _

_You didn’t know what kind of power Viserys had. Things you thought impossible have already proven not to be. If this is true then her kind are doomed and she’s the only one who can stop it_

All in her head in a matter of moments. But all that comes out of her mouth is, “Oh.”

“Bet your brother doesn’t know where to find a siren horn,” Tormund laughs, spilling ale down his beard as he takes a swig. Seeming happy with himself as if he’s delivered a blow to a rival siren hunter, instead of giving her the most precious information she could ask for. For someone who’s not very trusting of her, he has a very big mouth.

She didn’t even mean to ask a leading question. She presumed this was just another hunting trip for them. But now she knows this could change everything. 

The relaxed mood never really returns, as the others drink and bemoan Tormund’s drunken brag. 

She decides to take her leave, the pleasant buzz disappeared, replaced by anxiety and determination. Arya follows her to their shared room. She knows this isn’t a friendly sleepover, that Arya is basically guarding her until Jon makes up his mind.

“So now you know how important this is,” Arya says to her as they each lay in their rickety single beds. 

“Now I know,” she responds into the dark. 

“What Styr said wasn’t right. About your family. He shouldn’t have said that.”

In all the chaos of her mind and Tormund’s revelation she had forgotten about Styr’s insult.

“Maybe not, but he wasn’t wrong.”

The silence thickens until Daenerys thinks Arya must have fallen asleep before she whispers, like she’s afraid to be heard by even herself. “I don’t think you’re evil or some rival hunter here to sabotage us like some of the others.” _So that’s their theory?_ “But he’s family. I have to protect him.” Not a threat exactly, more of a request for understanding, for the warmth to icy response Arya seems to vacillate between when it comes to her.

“I understand,” she responds, equally as quiet. And she does. “Family is everything.”

~~~

The sun is shining warm on his face, children’s laughter rings through the air and Jon wants nothing more to return to the shabby inn and toss and turn for another 8 hours. He was miserable last night, trying to fall asleep, occasionally fighting his threadbare pillow as if it was his greatest foe. But now out in the fresh air, mentally preparing to go to a diplomatic meeting he wishes he could rewind the clock.

They’re heading through the market, on the way to Summerhall. While the others stop to buy refreshments, or in Arya’s case, a bundle of flowers for Gendry, he fidgets with agitation and impatience. Daenerys wanders around, talking with the sellers, looking more engaged than he’s ever seen her. He catches her eye and knows he can’t delay this any further.

He grabs Davos as he passes. ““I’m going on ahead, we’ll meet back at the inn this evening.”

“You don’t want some of us with you?”

“No,” he sighs. “This is something I ought to do myself. Davos looks sceptical. “If for no other reason than if it goes wrong, you won’t be there to witness my embarrassment.

Davos smiles gently at him and pats him on the shoulders, “I’ll tell the others. Good luck, lad.”

He walks away from the market, in the direction of the palace, and feels a steady blue-gold gaze on the back of his head. 

When there’s enough privacy he turns to face her. “I’m sorry Daenerys, but I can’t-”

“No,” she cuts him off.

“No?”

“You’re not ditching me here.” 

“Why do you want to join us so badly?” He asks her harshly.

Her mouth opens to say something but stutters. She opens and closes her mouth again before attempting weakly, “I have nowhere else to go.” True and yet not true. There’s something else going on and he doesn’t have the time or energy to parse it out. 

“I’m sorry about your brother, but you aren’t my responsibility. I’ve done all I can for you.”

“You wanted me to prove myself, to show I wasn’t a waste of space. You’re going on an important mission. _The_ most important mission. I could help. We could make a deal, my family know so much of sirens, probably even more than you do. You take me with you, and I tell you all I know of them.” There’s an edge of panic in her voice now.

He recalls Tormund coming to him this morning and informing him of his outburst the night before. He had to take many, _many_ deep breaths not to throttle the man. The only silver lining was that at least Tormund hadn’t seen the map. Only Jon, Arya, Gendry and Davos had. 

“I’ve made enough deals lately. I don’t need a straggler on this mission. Let alone a straggler I can’t trust. I doubt you can offer me anything I don’t already know.”

“You’re a king, you wouldn’t just leave some woman all on her own in a random country she hasn’t stepped foot in before!”

He levels a look at her which he hopes says, ‘Yes, I absolutely would. And am doing so.’

He goes to turn away but she grabs his arm to stop him. Searching his eyes with her own watery fearful ones, she seems to conclude that there’s no point fighting him. 

Daenerys sighs so deeply he thinks he can see the despondency taking over her body. “At least give me my necklace back.”

“Why should I? Maybe I should consider it payment for saving you from drowning.” He wills himself to stop, no idea why he’s still arguing. _Just give her the necklace, you cruel bastard_. “If not for saving your life, then clothing and feeding you.”

“Oh, what a bloody hero!” She yells, in his face now. “You didn’t let the girl drown and what honour of you not to leave her naked and starving. The North must be so proud of their righteous king!”

Taking a step away to put space between both of their red, irate faces. “Not that it will mean a thing to you but it was my mother who gave it to me. It’s all I have left of her. Please, please, give it to me.” 

The guilt sets in him now, at her begging for her own belonging. Guilt at angering her just so he could feel his heart pump viciously, so he could feel momentarily like a person, _alive._ He still didn’t trust her but it wasn’t her fault he felt dead inside.

Reaching inside his gambeson he tosses it to her. She cradles it against her face for a moment before sliding it over her head. 

He can see a tiny pulse of fight left in her. She opens her mouth, maybe to plead but he cuts her off. “You are not setting foot back on my ship, and that is my final decision.” He digs into the bag of coins at his belt, avoiding eye contact as he thrusts a handful into her palm. “This should buy you passage on another ship and a few nights at an inn.” He looks up, sees sorrow, rage and defeat flit across her face. Clearing his throat, he looks away, “Spend it wisely.” 

With that he turns and walks in the opposite direction, trying to convince himself, once again, that he’s made the right call.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait when he arrives at Summerhall. The oppressive aura of this building weighs his shoulders down and he’s in no mood to play diplomat. 

A servant pours he and Renly tea, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously.

“I’m assuming you want something,” Renly says, once they’re alone. “You wouldn’t have come all this way just to chat.”

“Maybe I just enjoy the pleasure of your company,” he cringes at the falsity in his voice. 

Renly levels a cut-the-shit look at him, so Jon instead decides to relay the whole story to him. Renly listens patiently as Jon tells him the bare bones, of the Royal Bane attack, of the map to the siren horn in Asshai, of his engagement to Melisandre, of the necklace he has to find. 

“And how do you hope for me to help? My brother was the great siren hunter, not me. If I can, I will but I still don’t know what you want from me.”

Jon has heard many times that the best way to make a deal is to make them think it’s in their own best interest. That _you’re_ the one doing _them_ a favour.

“I know somewhat of your troubles here, since taking the throne.” Renly goes rigid but he keeps going, “I know Stannis didn’t leave you in the best position.”

“That’s an understatement. He divided the nation and did nothing to heal it,” he responds, a bitter edge to his voice. 

A part of Jon felt wrong for doing this. For using something personal about Renly to help himself. Not the mission. Just himself. 

When Renly became king, he changed much of how things were done…as much as he could anyway. He might be spoiled and self-interested but he’s not cruel or neglectful and that’s more than can be said for many kings. One thing Renly can’t change, no matter how much he may want to, is how people think. Or how people talk. He still has their respect, he’s given them a prosperous town but memories are short and minds are fickle. How much longer can he last off their current goodwill? 

Things are expected of kings, wives and heirs, if they don’t wish to be at best resented or at worst hated by their vassals and subjects. Jon has made himself an exception, in that he doesn’t care much anymore if his vassals hate him and that he’s made it clear he’s a siren hunter before a king, so they can’t be surprised when his priorities are achieved in that order.

Renly has a different issue however. He’s the last trueborn Baratheon, several years into his reign, still unmarried and denying courtships. Because what will the daughter of a lord say to her father when the king has difficulty lying with her? How long until word spreads and the very fragile foundations this nation is settled upon start to crack again and all because the king prefers the company of men.

It’s ridiculous and heartless and naïve, to think that the gender of someone’s bed partners is what qualifies them to be a good king or queen. It’s also naïve to believe opinions can change quickly. It’s unlikely in either of their lifetimes they’ll see much progress on that front.

It’s not his only issue either. Things may be calm right now but there are still people who long to see the return of Red Priests and R’hllor to their shores. 

He can think of one woman who could solve both issues. 

After all, he promised Melisandre that she’d be free to preach. He promised he’d make her a queen. He just didn’t say _where_. 

And where better than a kingdom where there’s already a basis for her religion, a longing for it? A kingdom that could use a queen to put rumours in strongholds and taverns, alike, to rest.

He’s not going to blackmail him. He just hopes Renly will see that this solves both of their personal problems. 

“You don’t want separation within your people? You want a way to bind them and to forge their trust in you where there is little?”

“Exactly.”

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the risk he’s about to take. He just hopes he doesn’t end up starting a war. “What if I told you I could help with that?”

~~~

When she woke up this morning, she swore to herself not to let Jon out of her sight. He’s not only her key to getting home, but the key to stopping the total evisceration of her species. 

Instead she finds herself trailing down the path the old woman selling charms at the market had pointed her on. Daenerys had mentioned missing the ocean and the woman had told her of a nearby waterfall. “It’s not the ocean but it’s as close as you’ll get this far inland.” 

So now, with nothing else to do, she goes. She’s never been one to feel sorry for herself, but given recent circumstances she thinks she’s allowed to, just this once. Her plan failed. If the captain refused her as his crew then she couldn’t exactly keep hanging around them. She wasn’t giving up, but she had to come up with something much riskier. Her safe back-up plan is gone. 

_It was hardly a safe back-up plan to begin with_, she reminds herself. 

Coming through a canopy of trees, she finds a rocky alcove with a small waterfall tumbling into the azure water. Everything might be going wrong but for just a moment everything feels right, as she takes in a deep breath of the clean, earthy scent.

Kicking off her worn boots and dipping her toes, she instantly feels a wave of both gratitude and grief. 

She feels better in the water, but she’s not herself. These legs aren’t her own. Where her song should be there’s only a void where her power should be. All the things that make her herself are missing. And all because of Viserys. _Her blood._

In a fit of rage, she tears off her necklace and throws into the water. 

The anger fades quickly and embarrassment rushes through her as she wades in deeper, searching. 

_What a child_, she scolds herself. 

She ducks her head under but can’t see clearly enough. Taking a deep breath, she swims down to the bottom but neither her lungs or legs are used to the human way or swimming and she doesn’t last long. She goes on like this for an hour before dragging herself up onto the surrounding rocks.

Feeling a sob welling up in her throat, she laughs instead. Hysterical, unrestrained laughter. 

She recalls the brief moment after the king handed her the necklace back where she hugged it to her face and could hear the ocean in it. She could have sworn she heard a voice too but now thinks it was probably her loneliness longing for someone to talk to. 

Her mind pours over plan after plan, a way to still make this work but none are realistic. The stakes are so much higher than she had originally thought. She was motivated enough when it was her on the line, but now it was all of them, all sirens. What makes it worse was that Viserys hadn’t known of the Siren Horn on land, he hadn’t known of any of it. 

He hadn’t chosen her for some grand task, he had cursed her to walk with their enemies, as one of their enemies. It proved how little he thought of her, she was scum to him, nothing more than an errand girl. All because he hadn’t the courage to face the King in the North, the White Wolf himself. He had to send his baby sister to do it. 

Aggravation coursing through her at how little control she has over her own life, she picks up a broken off branch and tries to imitate the moves Jon was doing when they sparred. For what could be hours she does this, using up every bit of frustrated energy surging through her until she’s tired enough to lie down on the rocks and rest her eyes. The rushing of the waterfall easing her into a light sleep. 

“Daenerys,” she hears whispered. Her eyes flicker but she stays half-asleep. “Daenerys,” she hears again. A wet hand covers her arm and she jolts up.

Floating there, big brown eyes gazing at her, is Missandei.

She can’t choke back the sob any longer, throwing herself at her friend. Missandei supports them both in the water, holding each other fiercely. 

“How did you find me?” She manages between hiccups. 

Helping her back up onto the rocks, Missandei shows her what hangs from her right hand. Her necklace. Placing it back over her head, Missandei explains. “When your seashell hit the water, it was like a beacon, it led me here. Viserys was telling those at court that you were on a very important mission for him, he told Irri and I nothing at all when we asked. We knew though, that he’d came from the north. Qhono followed him when he left but lost track of him, he was moving so fast. So, when he returned, we went searching. We weren’t sure if Viserys had set a trap for you or was lying but we kept looking.” Her eyes dart quickly to her legs, full of compassion. “We didn’t know where to look so we’ve been looking everywhere. I wasn’t far away and something about the pull of your necklace, it made me swim even quicker.” She eyes it wear it hangs around Daenerys’ neck. “I tried calling through my own. I think we can communicate through them, when ones out of the water. It must be magic from the days when we walked the land more often. A way to keep in contact with Valyria, maybe.” 

Daenerys listens intently, still trying to calm her shaky breathing. Once she’s calm enough, gripping her necklace to ground her she tells Missandei everything. From following Roose to feeling ripped apart to waking up on the _Ghost_ with legs to Doreah to finding out about the siren horn and what they plan to do with it.

She listens patiently, thoughtfully throughout but she can see Missandei’s mind working, trying to problem solve as she goes.

“What do I do? I can’t just walk back on their ship. I could try and kill Jon why we’re still here but that won’t stop the others from going after the horn. If anything they’ll become more determined, to finish this war in his honour.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ve thought this over and over, Missandei, and I can’t come up with anything.”

“You’re looking at this as if you’ve only two bad options. In our time hunting I’ve known you to look at a bad situation and find a way out of it, a way only you could say but…in this case …I think the third option is obvious.” 

Her confusion must show on her face.

“Daenerys, if you could get the siren horn, you could change everything. You could end this.”

She can’t mean…no. _No, no, no._

“Missandei, I can’t try to usurp my brother. I can’t betray my bloodline.”

“Look at the situation he’s put you in. That he puts us all in. You would be a better queen Daenerys. We all know it. It would be no betrayal to your bloodline, no mark of dishonour on your family name if you do what is right. Because that is what you will be doing. Bringing justice and order back to Valyria and all the seas over, where it’s long since been forgotten.” 

“If I give him the heart –”

“You know him better than anyone, know his cruelty better than anyone. How do you know he won’t just take it and leave you to rot?”

She didn’t, she hoped he wouldn’t, but she hoped he wouldn’t do so many of the things he’s done.

“I know you wish to hold on to him but there’s no compassion left. Before he went searching for you, we kept our eyes on him, for anything. Doreah will have died in that time and there was nothing.

She knew what Missandei was saying. He’s the Sea King, if he’s paying enough attention, which he usually isn’t, he can feel the death of every siren. Doreah, his former lover, was killed and he felt nothing. 

Even Jon seemed more affected by it. He didn’t seem joyous at killing Doreah, he didn’t seem to feel much at all. 

What has happened that she’s somewhat favourably comparing her enemy to her brother? 

Perhaps its true that her brother is more an enemy to her, to sirens, than any human could be.

She lets Missandei’s idea rattle through her head. 

Her mother had always told her that not all humans need be enemies. That the hearts they stole could serve a purpose. To only take the hearts of those who were heartless beings. It’s not a lesson she’s ever forgot. More like, she’s pushed it to the wayside. When she was younger, she killed who Viserys told her to. After procuring a little freedom after Drogo’s death she tried to live by her mother’s mantra. Had she always been successful? She’s not sure. She tried her hardest not to have innocents die but when you hear the death cries of your friends, you become a little less compassionate to the other side. Until the day she died she would remember Rakharo’s screams and Jhiqui’s wails, she would remember the absence of sound when White Rat died, who refused to cry even when facing death.

If she could get the siren horn, she’d be more powerful than Viserys, or at least as powerful. If she took the horn, then Jon would have no weapon against them. 

Best case scenario they make a truce as their ancestors had but stick to it this time. They could stop the killing. Would the humans agree to that? If she had the horn it wouldn’t matter, they’d have all the power. If a little more blood needed to be shed to prove they couldn’t win this war, then that’s a sacrifice that would need to be made. If they pushed back on the boundaries, then the sirens could push back a little harder. 

But she could _end_ the war. This cycle of violence that has no end in sight could be done, or at least lessened. The humans could keep to above the surface and the sirens below. She couldn’t foresee a time when they were ever allies, like hundreds of years ago, but they needn’t be allies. All they needed to do was leave each other in peace. 

Something in her heart settled at the thought. A peaceful world is one she’s never known, no one her age has. 

She looks to Missandei again, and her friend can see the truth in her face. 

“It’ll be the hardest thing you ever do. Being amongst them, playing them, but in the long run a little betrayal could save countless lives. 

“I won’t feel guilty about betraying the humans,” she cuts in, confused.

“I know you, and I know you pick up strays wherever you go. Why would the humans be any different?”

She wants to argue the point but has far more pressing concerns. “What about Viserys?”

“Viserys will be enraged, he’ll be cruel, but you will be the one in charge, _finally_. Either he’ll come around to your rule or…” Missandei’s sentence trails off.

“Or he won’t,” Daenerys finishes for her. How long has she wanted her brother to change his ways? To show empathy and kindness? It doesn’t matter what she does, he never changes. He’s content with a life where sirens die in spades and kill in return, going on and on that no one remembers who took the first blow. 

Family is everything, she’d told Arya. But family was so much more than her brother. It was her friends; it was her species. You always do what’s best for your family, even if they don’t see it. 

The idea is agony, of overthrowing him, but she knows, deep in her heart, that it needs to be done. That it’s needed to happen for a while now. 

If she’s the one to overthrow him, to bear even more of his hatred and scorn, to have to deal with his sycophants in the aftermath then…_well that will be the price I pay for having enabled him through inaction_, she tells herself.

“Wait! All this means nothing if I can’t find a way onto their ship.”

Missandei raises an eyebrow, “You’re Daenerys Targaryen, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” 

They leave each other with another hug, a great deal of gratitude on Daenerys’ end and relief on Missandei’s with a promise to keep in touch when she can through her seashell. Daenerys will be the agent on land and Missandei in the sea, keeping an eye on what’s going on in Valyria.

They’re only trying to stop centuries long war, what could possibly go wrong?

Buoyancy and foreboding go hand in hand as she races back to the town, an equal amount of vitality and dread coursing through her as she finally has a plan. Just a much bigger one than originally planned.

She had to find Jon and she had to convince him. Appealing to his decency again, trying to convince him that abandoning a woman alone would be wrong, seems like a waste of time. He’s a captain and a king. He’s a man on a mission.

No, she didn’t need to appeal to some sense of decency or bleeding heart, she needs to appeal to his pragmatism. 

~~~

Making his way back to the inn, Jon feels a marginal lift of weight from his shoulders. He and Renly have a tentative agreement. They also have a trade plan that works far more in the Stormlands favour, but he can hardly blame him for trying to gain as much from the deal as he could. 

The back of his tingles with awareness. He’s being followed. Dodging down one alley and then turning left into another, he waits for his assailant to appear. He’d taken this town for peaceful if a little rowdy; he should know better than to think there are places that violence doesn’t touch.

Hearing the light footsteps reach the end of the first alley, he unsheathes Longclaw as he spins to face them.

“You really have to stop pointing that thing at me.”

It’s dark where she stands but just enough moonlight gets through for him to see white-blonde hair. Longclaw has nicked just under her chin. He heaves a sigh and puts Longclaw back in his scabbard. Taking a step forward, fully into the light, he notices that she’s trailing water from her dress.

“Almost drown again?”

“Almost,” she says, a peculiar smile on her face. “Why were you hiding, I was trying to follow you?”

“I thought you might be an attacker.”

“So…you ran away and hid?” She asks, a teasing tone in her voice that he’s not in the mood for.

“I moved to a location where I’d have the upper hand,” he grits out, exasperated. “What are you doing here, Daenerys?”

“I know we didn’t get off to the best start, but the truth is I know a lot about sirens. I’m sure you think because you’re the most famed killer of them that you know everything, but you don’t. I can speak their language, that’s more than you can say. In the fairytales the Siren Horn was placed where it couldn’t be found, as part of a truce between humans and sirens. Placed on human land but it’s likely there’s siren magic needed to uncover it. 

“How do you figure that?”

“Do you think it’s going to be so simple as picking it up and killing them all? It’s hard for those of us born in a world with little magic to comprehend that it used to be so common it existed in almost everything. It didn’t command a steep price like I’m sure your weapons do; it only required the ability.” 

He was loathe to admit it, but she was making a lot of sense. This item was of a different era, it didn’t play by today’s rules. Humans may have forgotten the siren language long ago, aside from Daenerys’ family who captured them, but it could be a useful tool to have. A back-up plan if all else fails. But still something nagged at him.

“Why is this so important to you?”

“My brother…he’s cruel. Not always. Which makes it worse. If he’d always been awful it would be easier to let him go but once we were all each other had. But we’re grown now and I can’t keep making excuses for him. He’s arrogant and he’s dangerous. He’s had so many opportunities to do good, to go about things the right way instead of whatever way his whims are taking him. You might not have heard of him but where I’m from his reputation is fierce and it’s false and we all know it. It’s a lie we pretend to believe so we can live in peace. But we haven’t been living in peace, we’ve been living in fear. I want I want to show _our_ people that living a different way can be done, we don’t have to be scared and react in anger.” 

She takes a shuddering deep breath, and he’s momentarily entranced by the passion when she speaks. “But more than that I want to prove to him that I’m not his weak little sister he can push around whenever he wants. I want to do what he can’t. I want to be out of under his thumb and not because he’s tossed me away but because I’ve proved I’m stronger. It’s entirely self-serving. But that’s the truth. If you help me, then I’ll help you…oh and we could also put an end to a war that’s been going on for hundreds of years. That too.” 

“I’d hardly say we’re at war,” he says, trying to feign disinterest in all that she’s said but judging by the curve of her mouth, he’s failed. 

“Humans kill sirens, sirens kill humans and on and on it goes. No one is willing to put their weapons down, but what if they didn’t have a choice. Everyone could retreat to their corners and maybe, peace could exist. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of trying to make that dream come true?”

“And you think it can?”

“My dreams usually do.” There’s a satisfied glint in her eyes as he takes in all that she’s said. She’s made a compelling argument and she knows it. It helps that it’s a lot more honest than most of what she’s said to him. He could take his compass out to confirm, but he doesn’t need to.

He’s made his choice; he just hopes he doesn’t live to regret it. 

Taking a step closer, he bends down slightly so they’re eye to eye. “Some of my crew think this is all an elaborate ploy. That your brother left you where I would find you purposefully so you could infiltrate my ship and steal our secrets. That you come from a line of petty siren hunters who are bitter about not being the best. Now, I don’t buy into that theory. But just so we’re clear, if you’re lying to me, I will have to kill you.”

A sardonic smile sweeps across her face, and he feels himself returning it. 

“I might just kill you first.”

They ride hard out of the Summerhall settlement the next morning and set sail the next afternoon. Some of the crew are taking Daenerys joining them better than others. All of them remain wary, but most of them trust his judgement. 

The same evening after heading for their next stop, Jon stares at the horizon, contemplating the next part of his plan. An even _bigger_ risk than potentially offending a king by revealing you know his secrets. This one, at least, might be a little fun. 

He hears some of the men, and women, wolf whistling behind him. And he understands why when he turns around. Daenerys has appeared on deck, Arya beside her. Earlier this evening she’d whisked her away, telling her “You’re dressed like a damsel fetched from the sea. If you’re going to be a part of the crew then you need to dress like it.” 

She certainly looks the part. Gone is the flimsy dress, replaced by dark red trousers, tucked into a slightly newer pair of black boots, a white shirt tucked into the trousers with a thin black waistcoat over it. Her hair’s been braided and swept to one side, and large gold hoops hang from her ears, he can see the dried blood where, no doubt, Arya pierced them. He didn’t know anyone here even owned earrings. 

She’s an irritant, a nuisance, a general calamity he didn’t see coming and still, he can’t take his eyes off her.

It takes him a moment to realize she’s speaking to him.

Clearing his throat, and ignoring Arya when she laughs at him, he says, “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you’d teach me some more. I practiced a little, the other day, I wanted to see if I was any better.”

And, so they make a dance of it. 

She strikes and he parries easily. Back and forth they go, chasing each other across the deck. He hears good natured laughing, his more amiable crew cheering her on, hoping to see their captain taken down a peg or two. 

She’s better. Still not good, but better. She certainly looks less murderous whenever he strikes her with the flat of his blade. He even lets her get a couple in herself. One he may not have even allowed. 

Around they go, for minutes or maybe hours. The crew and the sea and the gulls only background noise, their eyes only on each other.

Breathless, he puts out a hand. “Good show,” he says, shaking her small warm hand. He doesn’t know why but he holds on a few seconds longer, eyes locked on hers. Gold surrounded by blue. 

Only after he watches her disappear below-deck does he realise he’s had a smile on his face the whole time. Not a smirk, or a sardonic smile, not even a reluctant one. A true, contented smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes everyone is out of character, let's just go with it.
> 
> i wrote the whole jon/renly conversation out & it was super boring so i cut it, but i think you get the gist & there'll be more in upcoming chapters.
> 
> there's action next chapter, promise & i swear on my life it won't take as long as this one
> 
> next time: dany & jon encounter a one-eyed pirate.


	9. teaching myself how to be free

Jon takes back every nice thing he’s said, every good thought he’s ever had about Daenerys. 

Because of her Tormund was heaving his guts out over the side of the ship. Only after he was thoroughly sick all over the deck, and a little over Jon.

“Why, why, _why_ would you say he couldn’t drink a cask all in one go?”

“Because I knew he’d try to prove me wrong.”

“You wanted him to be sick everywhere?”

“I wanted him distracted so he’d stop glaring at me all the time. I don’t drink very often, so I’m quite ignorant about it and he’s a very large man. How was I to know he’d be sick?” Her voice was apologetic, but her face was unrepentant. _This woman._

“I should have you clean it all up.”

“Really I think he ought to clean it all up. He didn’t have to do it. He chose to. This should teach him a lesson about giving in to all his impulses. And what happens when you stare at a lady too long.”

“He’s just wary, you can hardly blame him.”

“As a matter of fact, I can. Anyway, it doesn’t matter his reason for staring, just that he does it too much. His noble efforts don’t impress me.” As she says this, Daenerys quite literally turns her nose up.

For a woman he dredged from the ocean, she was occasionally very regal. That’s the nicest word for it he can think of.

They’d gotten into a routine since leaving the Stormlands. Throughout the day they’d bicker whenever their paths crossed. Sometimes the goading would be gentle, not all that different from how he and his crew spoke to each other. Other times it took on a more acerbic tone.

But no matter how infuriated they were with each other; they would always spar on deck every single night. She was getting better, was no master swordswoman, but was improving greatly. It was fun to watch her face screw up in concentration, he could tell she would try and look serene but inevitably her eyebrows would scrunch, and her lips would purse. While he was letting her win, it was still fun to watch her celebrate when she got a hit in. You’d think she’d been granted all her life’s desires just by smacking him with the flat side of a blade by the way she would jump up and down, cheering. It was just fun to watch her, whenever he allowed himself to, and fun wasn’t something Jon allowed himself much of either. It took more effort as the days went on, to not look at her. 

_A lot could change in two weeks._

He was reaching for his compass less and less, deciding to trust his own instincts on her.

He knew she was in this for herself, that she was in some ways dishonest, but he couldn’t help but warm to her just the smallest amount. Not enough to want her to join the crew full time. By the time they reached Asshai and climbed that gods forsaken mountain he’s sure he’ll more than ready to wave goodbye to her and never see her again. But as a temporary crew member who wasn’t really a crew member, she was fine. Maybe even good. 

He’d had to remind Karsi, Arya and Davos especially that this arrangement was a temporary one. She was more of a guest than a crew member and they’d do well to remember it.

So would Styr and Tormund, for different reasons. They didn’t have to like her but trying to kill her by glaring alone was a waste of time and pointless. In a matter of months, they probably wouldn’t even remember Daenerys’ name. Hopefully, neither would he.

After watching Tormund struggle to clean up his mess for a while, Daenerys returns from below deck with another bucket and mop to help him clean.

When Jon catches her eye and raises an eyebrow she only says, “It’ll get rid of the stench quicker.” 

There was an ever-growing gap in Jon’s mind between the stuck-up girl he thought her to be and the person she actually was. A person he couldn’t make much sense of. At times haughty and distant, at others comforting and warm. Not to mention that she eats their nightly meals of fish like a bear, tearing into it like it’s the last food she’ll ever eat. 

When mostly everyone goes below deck for the nightly meal, Jon opts to get some peace and let his mind run over all the ways this mission could go wrong and contingencies for those failures. There was still no word from Sam, which meant there wasn’t any useful information in any of the old belongings he was sifting through or he just hadn’t found any yet. Either way, it was a loss. He was sure his father must have something documented that would be even a little helpful. If not, then one of his great-great-great grandfathers back when the wars were going on.

Alas, for now they were on their own. Another failure to have a contingency for.

Soft footsteps sound behind him. Footsteps he’s already come to recognize.

Daenerys stands a few paces away, staring out to the horizon alongside him, long white blonde, almost silver hair flowing behind her.

“You busy?” she asks

“No,” he replies, more curtly than he means to.

“I can leave if you’d like. I don’t mean to interrupt your designated time for quiet contemplation,” she smirks, standing to face him.

That gets a laugh out of him. “Who’s calling it that?”

“Oh, just about everyone but it was Davos who started it.”

He’s smiling along with her now. Just two fools grinning at each other as the sun sets. They’ve had a few too many moments like this the past few days and he finds it disconcerting. Neither of them are friendly people by nature, that much is obvious even knowing her for so little time.

When the moment goes on a little too long, she breaks it, clearing her throat a little. “Will we be sparring tonight?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we?”

“It’s just we’ll be arriving in Braavos tomorrow. I thought maybe you’d want the rest.”

“You’re not that tiring,” he chuckles.

She scoffs at him, “I’m getting better.

They’re interrupted by the bawdy voices of his crew drift up, singing a sea shanty. She sways along to the music slightly and blushes when he catches her eye.

“Are you going to give me a verse then, Daenerys?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she says, a peculiar smile on her face, as if she’s in on a joke with herself.

He wants to know her inside jokes and memories. He wants to know all of her and isn’t sure why. _You know why_.

He mentally punches the voice away. 

“Are _you_ going to give me a verse, captain?” It doesn’t escape his notice that she only ever calls him captain sarcastically. But it doesn’t bother him as much as it did a few weeks ago. It no longer bothers him at all, really. It’s become a little amusing at this point.

“You wouldn’t like that at all,” he laughs lightly. “Robb used to throw bread rolls at me over dinner if I sang along too loudly with the bards.”

The memory of his brother stings, as it always does, but he doesn’t have much time to wallow when Daenerys prods him in the arm with her, until now concealed, sword. It’s cheap and ill-made, a spare one they found in a pile of useless items in a tiny storage closet. 

When he turns to face her, he sees a sheath on her right side. “Gendry made it for me,” she answers his unspoken question. “What do you say, captain? Scared to fight me without your audience.”

“Not even a little,” he says, unsheathing Longclaw.

Did she see him start to slip into bad memories and distract him? No, she came to spar anyway. _How would she know how I was feeling?_

He enjoys this part, the push and pull of a fight. Advancing and retreating, constantly analysing your partner’s moves. She truly has improved greatly. When he first started teaching her, she’d trip over her own feet like a baby giraffe learning to walk, knees constantly knocking together. That she could stay upright was a feat in itself. 

There are times when she looks at him and he could not, even if his life was on the line, decipher her expression. At first, he thought it aggression, but the more he’s seen it he knows it not to be true. It’s like she’s looking to the inside of him, seeing everything and leaving him exposed. But she’s little more than a stranger, how much can she really know about him.

There’s something different about their fight this night. They don’t have an audience making jokes and taking bets. The crew on deck are too busy with the ship to pay them much attention so it’s just them, eyes locked together as if by magnetic pull. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

When the sweat is dripping off his face, he decides to call it a night. Daenerys, usually the one pushing for their lessons to last a little longer, looks relieved and quickly returns below deck. 

Jon needs to end whatever fascination his brain has with her. There can be no distractions, even harmless ones. His mind has to focus on the plan. Next step, Braavos. 

~~~

As in the Stormlands most of the crew stay on the ship while the others take to land. Strangely though, the _Ghost_ didn’t come anywhere near the harbour, they had to row out from miles away. And instead of leaving at noon when they arrived near Braavos, they waited until the sun started to go down. 

By the time they reach the city, the sky is pitch black and their way is only visible by the lit lamps of much larger ships and the two small ones at each end of their rowboat. 

She’s seen the Titan of Braavos from afar before, came to look out of curiosity after luring sailors, usually slavers, to their deaths. But as they row under it, she’s blown away by the scale of the statue. She can’t believe such a feat was accomplished with human hands. _Magic must have been involved somehow._

They pass a harbour and instead row down a canal. If she had to guess, she’d say this was where people go to cause trouble. Inns and brothels line the streets. She assumes they’re brothels anyway, but it isn’t hard to figure out.

They steer the boat down another side canal, as if heading back towards the harbour they passed. Daenerys feels like they’re going in circles but at no point does Jon communicate to the others where they’re heading. This clearly isn’t their first time here.

They finally stop outside what looks to be an abandoned building, with a wide, tall chimney. The sign says it’s a blacksmith’s forge.

No one talks as they awkwardly climb onto the cobbled street. Daenerys is too speechless to ask any questions when Gendry, Jon and Tormund pull their rowboat from the water and over their shoulders. 

Davos knocks lightly on the door and a grumbling, bearded older man comes to the door. He stinks of ale and piss and doesn’t look one bit surprised to see them. “Leave the boat in the back,” is all he says before disappearing into another room. 

Without a word she follows them up the narrow staircase two flights. They’d somehow downgraded from that _shabby_ inn in the Stormlands for the attic over a forge. Arya opens the door and dust flies everywhere, a musty scent hitting her in the face. The king may not be a man of expensive tastes, but this was ridiculous. The dust laid so thickly on the windows she couldn’t see out of them.

“How long has this place been abandoned?”

“However long it’s been since we were last here,” Gendry replies.

They have a Braavos hideout, rowed into the city at night, and the ship wouldn’t come close enough to the city to be spotted. 

She keeps a wary eye on them as they set down places to sleep, Tormund pulling bedrolls for them all out of his enormous rucksack. 

“Will we be away for long?” She asks no one in particular as they all settle down for the night. 

“Not sure,” Jon replies shortly. He’s been short with her ever since last night, and she can’t say she minds. Passive aggression and literal aggression with Jon are far more comfortable to her than niceties. 

“Why didn’t the ship dock if you’ve no idea how long we’ll be here and why did we wait until night to row in?” She sees Arya and Gendry exchange a look, enough to confirm her suspicions. “You’re hiding from someone aren’t you?”

“Several someone’s,” Arya grumbles.

“What did you do?”

No one responds so Daenerys opts to use the tactic she recalls her mother using on her. Weighted silence with a hard glare. It clearly works because Gendry stammers out, “We, uh, stole something for someone. The Sealord knows it was us but didn’t want to start a war, so as long as we swore not to ever come back, he would leave it as is. But when we’re in Braavos, we’re at his mercy.”

“What did you steal?”

“A couple of jewels,” Jon says nonchalantly. “Someone else had stole them first from Queen Elia of Dorne, family heirlooms. I’d already borrowed enough from the North’s treasury for hunting equipment and we needed a new enchanted net. Elia had acquired one and gave it to us in exchange for her heirlooms back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

“Maybe I wanted to see if you were capable of keeping quiet and following orders.”

She scowls at that and represses the urge to stomp her foot. It’s very satisfying, she wonders why humans don’t do it more often. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Tormund mutters before going downstairs, the creaking of the stairs so loud they can hear him hit the ground floor. 

“What is he watching for?”

“We paid the blacksmith to have a ladder built in the chimney, that way we can see the harbour from the top,” Gendry says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jon and Davos exchange a glance before Jon gives him a small nod. “Euron Greyjoy,” Davos says.

_Oh shit._

“I’m guessing by the look on your face you’ve heard of him?”

Jon might be the most prominent siren hunter but there’s tactics involved in his process. Euron Greyjoy doesn’t hunt sirens to save his fellow humans, he hunts them for fun. There are no tales of his viciousness because none ever survive coming into contact with his ship, the _Silence_. A fitting name from the stories she’s heard. Even with a sirens superior hearing all that’s ever heard from his ships are the sirens tortured, bloodcurdling screams, sometimes for as long as a week, and maniacal, nightmarish laughter. No other sounds from the rest of his crew. The most terrifying aspect is the man cannot be lured. Many sirens have tried. Jon and his crew may have their trickery to ward off enchantment, but it wasn’t impossible for them to be. Whatever dark magic Euron has played with has made it so neither he nor his crew can be drawn by the siren’s song. 

“He’s rather notorious in my part of the world as well,” she gulps. 

“He has something we want.”

“The necklace.” She responds, not a question.

“How do you–” Jon speaks up.

“Tormund. He has a big mouth when he drinks.” Jon opens his mouth, but she cuts him off again. “And he drinks all the time before you go blaming me for it.”

“Aye well,” Davos continues awkwardly, “Euron, we suspect, has the necklace.”

“And why do you suspect that?”

“If we don’t have it or have any idea where it is…that usually means he has it.”

“You’ve had dealings with this man before?” The shock must be evident in her tone as Davos looks abashed. 

“No, no! But we’ve heard of him and he’s certainly heard of us. Word is he’s not a big fan of our captain.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she bites out. Davos only smiles.

“Euron wishes to be king of the Iron Islands but was passed over in favour of his niece Asha. The fact that Jon is a captain, a king and very occasionally a pirate, has Euron quite envious if the rumours are true.”

“But why are you so sure he has it?”

“He deals in items that are hard to find. So, do we, some of the time. A lost necklace of an Asshai princess…there will always be rumours of such a thing. No matter how loyal you might be, someone always slips up. Tormund is a good example of that,” he chuckles. “The fact that there’s not a word around the whereabouts of this necklace, not even a whisper…”

“Only silence,” she finishes for him. “A man who has a silent crew.” 

“Exactly.”

“How do you know he’ll come to Braavos?”

“He’s always passing through. He has a lot of dealings with people in this city. Passing money from hand to hand. Slavery might be outlawed here but on many islands around here it’s still thriving. Just because the Braavosi can’t profit from it in their homeland doesn’t mean they can’t profit it all.”

“So, he’s cruel and corrupt.”

“That’s putting it nicely.”

They play a card game for a while, Arya teaching her the rules when she claimed Ibbenese ignorance. She’s reluctant to admit to herself that she enjoys these moments when she feels even the slightest of bonds to some of these people.

Her affection for them is just that though, slight. And she’s willing to put that down to missing her own friends. 

As everyone else drifts off, Jon taking the next watch, Daenerys tosses and turns. She’d told Missandei she was sure. She’d acted like she had no doubts, but it was never going to be this simple. 

Viserys is her last living relative. Is this worth it all? If she can manage to get away with the siren horn and brings it to Viserys, they can bargain, make a deal, maybe even learn to trust one another. If she immediately tries to make a deal with the humans though, he’d never forgive her. She hates how important his forgiveness is to her.

Much of the next day is spent waiting around looking for Euron’s ship in the harbour. Six people in such a cramped space is not having a good effect on her mood. It certainly doesn’t help that Jon decides to question her.

“What do siren hunters from Ibben know of the siren horn? Your family is fairly notorious you said.” His flat tone of voice irritates her. Maybe his distance is affecting her more than she thought.

“No concrete details, only theories. It’s believed the magic within the horn is too strong for any living species to imbue directly, so it can only be used through an object.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

_Pretty sure you didn’t know that, but okay._

She doesn’t even try to hide her grimace. “There are old wives tales that say the two siren horns are made of the fossilised bones of an old Sea Queen. That after her death her husband, who was a powerful mage, had them turned into magical tools so as to keep the peace as she would have wanted. They say she ruled a land kingdom and the underwater kingdom and that’s why the power is unimaginable. Of course, per the old wives, it was so long ago no one remembers her name, or when exactly she ruled, or what her kingdom was called.” She says this all sarcastically, but Jon looks to be taking every word in seriously. “It’s a story for children.” 

“Anything else?”

_That’s_ all he has to say?

“The Sea King always has more strength than other sirens, it’s why they go through the change and have their tail turned into tentacles. It makes them stronger, but it also serves as a reminder to everyone that they are lesser than their king. That they cannot wish to take what he has. If the Sea King had a siren horn, whose limits no one knows, then the sirens will remain subjugated to his rule, with no chance of escape. Truthfully, they’d remain that way even without it.”

“Nice story,” Tormund pipes up. “Did you make it up on the spot?”

“I’m not a storyteller.”

“Just a liar then.”

“Enough, Tormund,” Davos sighs.

“Just because the captain decided to keep you on instead of stranding you as he should have,” he throws a glare in Jon’s direction, “Doesn’t mean you’re one of us. Step a foot out of line and you’ll be locked up again.”

“Is that a threat?” She’s almost amused by the idea.

“No one is threatening anyone,” Jon says, in what she’s come to recognize as his diplomatic voice. 

“You can count on it, little one,” Tormund replies, completely ignoring Jon.

“Now that that’s cleared up,” Jon snaps, “What did you mean ‘remain subjugated’?”

Tearing her eyes away from Tormund she looks into Jon’s deep brown eyes. “Sirens are not entirely a free species. They’re not enslaved but they’re not free either. Think of it like a dictatorship.”

He’s silent for a moment before he laughs. “And where did you find this out?”

“One of the sirens captured on my brother’s ship spoke of it.”

“Not long before it was killed, I bet? It probably would have said anything to get you to let it free. Next thing you’ll be telling me they’re all under mind control and secretly want to be humans?”

“If you’re told someone is your enemy from birth and its kill or be killed, you don’t have any reason not to believe it. Maybe you’d know that if you kept one alive for more than five minutes.”

“You wanted to come on this mission, Daenerys, I didn’t force you, and now you want to play peacemaker,” Jon says, his voice steadily rising.

“What I _wanted_,” she slams her hand on the small table they’re clustered around, “was to help end a war.”

“The only way this war ends is by the sirens being wiped out, or weakened enough that they’ll be no threat. There’s been too much killing to make peace.” He stands abruptly, face flushed. “I’ll take next watch,” he says over his shoulder, storming out of the room. Even Arya, forever her brother’s defender, looks perturbed by his outburst.

And more disturbingly, Daenerys doesn’t think he actually believes a word he just said. Since when did she start looking for the good in this man?

The next day is passed in misery and awkward silences whenever Jon’s not on watch. She chats a little with Gendry, Arya and Davos and withstands Tormund’s glares, which even he gives up on after a while. But she still can’t sleep and can’t manage to convince herself she’s doing the right thing by betraying her brother.

She’s witnessed the bond between Arya and Jon, heard the way they talk about their other siblings. They’re clearly one another’s favourite but even when they complain about Sansa or Bran or Rickon there’s an underlying affection. Is that what she has with Viserys? Is it too much to hope that they’ve just veered off track a little too far? She only has one blood family member left. Betraying him, even if it’s for a good reason, will cost her him. Is he really so far gone?

The more time passes since her meeting with Missandei, the more her doubts grow.

Daenerys thanks all the gods when Jon comes down from watch announcing he’s spotted Euron’s ship. It’s not even been two days and she’s already going out of her mind, she can’t imagine a week stuck in this place.

Her gratitude is obliterated when he tells them they still won’t make a move until the next day.

“Why not?” She knows she sounds whiny, and she doesn’t care.

“Us showing up as soon as he turns up in Ragman’s Harbour is a little suspicious.”

“But us showing up a day after isn’t?”

“It’s _less_ suspicious. We don’t want to seem as if we’ve been waiting on him.”

And so, she remains stuck in a cramped room with people, no matter how genial some of them can be, would murder her on the spot if they knew what she was.

That evening, Davos pulls out some cards and they start playing a game she has no idea the rules of and doesn’t bother trying to learn.

The air is suffocating, the company even more so. 

“I’m going for a walk,” she almost shouts, shooting upright. The game and chat completely stop, all eyes on her.

“A walk?” Jon asks sceptically

“Yes, I…I just need,” she finds her hands involuntarily shaking a little in front of her, unable to get her words out and panicking the more she can’t. “I need to…not–”

“Don’t be back late,” Jon says with a nod, resuming the game. “Who wants to embarrass themselves next?” With that all the attention is drawn back to him and the cards. She wonders if it was just her imagination or if his voice was much softer than usual.

She walks and walks until she’s leaving the bawdy part of Braavos behind, away from the docks and into a quieter part of the city, the canals growing wider as she goes. Walking until her feet hurt, which doesn’t take much she’s still only had them a few weeks, she stops on a low bridge to sit down and dangle her feet over the edge.

She clutches the seashell around her neck, contemplating trying to speak to Missandei. But what would she say? _Remember the plan we came up with that could change everything and save everyone? Well about that, I don’t know if I can keep up my side because I don’t want my only relative to hate me for all eternity. And I don’t really want to kill the king either, even though I should. He might want all our species dead but he has been teaching me how to swordfight, so I’m ready to call it even._ No, she couldn’t do that.

A ripple in the water draws her attention. _Probably just a fish_, she thinks just as Ramsay Bolton launches himself onto the bridge beside her.

His skin is so pale it borders on grey and almost completely blends into his grey tail. She’s always thought he had the look of a slightly waterlogged corpse. Sirens are, obviously, built to survive in the water but Ramsay looks unnatural in every environment, like a demon whose clawed his way in from an ominous world. A horrific smile crosses his face as they lock eyes. Hers, petrified and his somehow more lifeless than his father’s. 

“There you are, my darling.” _My what now?_

Another splash behind her has her head swivelling away from Ramsay. A naïve mistake. Now he’s right beside her, one hand snaking around hers to throw her scabbard away from them. She can’t care about that though because Viserys is here. Gliding above the water on his tentacles, like nothing she’s ever seen. 

“Sweet sister, I see you’re getting to know you’re betrothed.” Viserys says, his face as blank as the last time she saw him.

Everything about this situation is so ridiculous she can’t contain her laugh, “My what?”

“You didn’t think you’d remain unmarried forever, did you? I’ve let you have your fun, it’s time to do your duty to your family and mend the mess you got us in. Marrying the son of the siren you murdered would be a good way to start.” He speaks as he uses his tentacles to climb up and over the bridge, keeping them extended and towering over her crouching form.

There’s something different about him, something far more sinister than she’s seen before. At the mere monstrous sight of Viserys, she wants to scream for help. Imagine that. Her screaming for humans to help against sirens. But before the thought even has enough time to formulate, a ghostly choir rings in her ears. 

From the canals more sirens appear, going off in twos or threes downside streets. They’re luring a whole district of the city.

“No need to worry, Dany. They’re just here to make sure we’re not interrupted. There’ll be no massacre,” Viserys grins. “At least not tonight.”

The lilting, deadly lullaby rises and falls like the rocking of a ship. She recognizes the melody. All siren songs are different but there are popular ones used by many, and this one when sang by groups of sirens can set humans into a deep slumber. Its downfall is the song cannot be targeted, all humans in its range will fall asleep, sometimes including your intended targets. Normally its used so ships crash or so sirens have enough time to claw holes into the hull of the ship, waiting around as it slowly sinks. 

That she’s still conscious is proof that even in her human form she cannot be lured. Daenerys had never worried about Viserys luring her into doing her bidding before which seems foolish now. Of course this is the type of thing he’d do if he could. _He had_ in his own way been doing it for a long time.

“You came all this way to tell me I’m betrothed…to the flayer?” 

It wasn’t enough he had married her off to a brutal khal of the seahorse lords. Now he wanted her to join with the siren who didn’t find enough enjoyment in tearing out hearts. No, he had to cut the skin from their bodies too, leaving only brutalised, sinewy red husks to be dredged up from beaches.

She stands, stepping away from her…betrothed, wanting some space from the brute. He doesn’t seem concerned, using his upper body to slither near her feet. 

“I came all this way to see why you’ve yet to procure the bastard king’s heart.” 

“It’s not that simple.” She can’t tell him her plan, can’t bargain with him when he has such an advantage. She’s never been able to bargain with him when he’s angry. When he loses his temper, he’s lost to all reason.

“This flimsy justification is why no one respects you sister. It’s why I gave you this opportunity to prove yourself and you embarrass me yet again.”

She can’t help the tears that come to her eyes. “Do you actually believe what you’re saying, or do you just enjoy making me feel small?”

He laughs at that, not at all moved by her sorrow. “Look at you! In your human clothes on your little human legs crying your human tears. I’m sorry you have to see this Ramsay, I thought she’d be less,” he debates over the right word to use, “…Pathetic.”

_She’s pathetic?_ “You only sent me here because you’re too cowardly to go after the king yourself,” she snaps at him, venom lacing every word.

He snatches her jaw up in one of his hands while a tentacle squeezes around her stomach. “Now, now, let’s not say things we’ll regret. Stop projecting your failures, Dany, and take some responsibility. How many times must I tell you? Princesses don’t make excuses. Targaryen’s don’t make excuses.”

He tosses her away and she lands next to Ramsay who draws a sharp nail down her cheek drawing blood. Pushing him away with all the strength she can muster, she bounces to her feet, eyes level with Viserys’ chest.

Now she’s not choking on her own blood like their last encounter, she has more time to take in what hangs around Viserys’ neck. She took it for a more extravagant seashell necklace. But now she really looks. 

She’s seen it a thousand times, probably more, on him. The ivory conical seashell with a slight curve. But that’s not all it is. 

The siren horn of the sea, long thought to be lost to time, if believed it existed it all, is now resting around her brother’s neck, has been his entire reign. It had been worn by her father, and Rhaegar before him, and countless Kings of Valyria before that.

This is how he turned her into a human. This is why he’s venture closer to humanity than he ever has before. He hasn’t had a sudden burst of bravery. He’s stronger now and less afraid, but not so brave as to do his bidding himself.

He hasn’t been hiding his powers all this time, he’s only recently come into them. 

What was thought to be a useless piece of jewellery, an artefact of a time of deep unknowable magic and now nothing more than a statement, is the key to a kingdom. 

How he’d come to know how to use it, how to awaken its long dead magical properties, she had no idea. But right now, the how of it all didn’t matter. What mattered was making sure this night didn’t turn into a massacre. His word that it wouldn’t meant nothing. His word meant nothing at all.

She can’t help herself from looking at the gleaming seashell hanging between his collarbones. No, not a seashell. She had to break out of the habit of thinking it was a harmless necklace. Now if she focuses, she can feel the malice and intoxicating force radiating from it through the air like waves. There’s a pull so strong, she wants to fall to her knees and worship to it but before she can, it evaporates. She looks up and sees a smug smirk on Viserys’ face.

“A demonstration.”

A threat of what it can do, more like. 

“He’s going for the other siren horn,” she blurts out before she knows what’s doing. “There was two made right? You have one and the king is going for the other. He thinks he can end us all with it. That’s why he’s not dead yet, because I need his guidance to get there and make sure no human lays hands on it.” For once she’s grateful for her natural instinct to placate him. It comes across as defensiveness for sirens as opposed to defending innocent humans, asleep in their beds, from him. She needs to goad him into leaving but he’s slightly more courageous with his newfound abilities. What better way to make him leave than tell him the bigger picture issue at hand?

At her outburst he goes silent, eyes wide and panicked, the face he usually makes before one of his own violent outbursts. Trembling in anger he brings his face close to hers.

“I want his heart and I want the other horn,” he hisses in her ear. “I don’t get what you have to do, who you have to kill, I want it. I can’t afford to look weak, Dany. If you don’t bring me his heart with the horn, then I’ll have to take your heart instead.”

After they’d disappeared into the water and the choir died off, she waited before trudging back to the forge, thinking of a lie about how she got cut on the way.

She hates how feeble she feels, how small and worthless. At least when she’s arguing with Jon or Tormund, she can hold her own. Neither may like her but they do have a modicum of respect for her. The same can’t be said for her brother. She’s a pawn and nothing more. 

This was so typical Viserys. As soon as she leaves room in her heart for him, decides that he deserves another chance, he ruins it. But he has never threatened to kill her before. The old Viserys rarely killed anyone himself, of course. He’d get one of his lackeys or Ramsay to do it. But now he has abilities she doesn’t understand the depths of. Maybe the new Viserys would kill her himself and enjoy it.

At least she has no more doubts about her plan. 

_No, that’s a lie._ She has plenty doubts but she knows it’s the right course of action, knows her and Missandei’s instincts about him not being allowed to rule were correct.

He might have crushed her heart and spirit once more, but he’s also done her a favour with his appearance. There can be no turning back now.

Looking in the mirror, in the tiny first floor washroom, she sees only a stranger. Her cut, courtesy of Ramsay, has stopped bleeding but her skin is still red and raw. Her hair, normally silky even in the deepest parts of the ocean, is stiff from weeks of saltwater breeze. Her skin, usually so pale, has become a light golden colour. In her eyes she thinks she sees the human weakness Viserys claimed to have seen.

She also sees Jon, leaning against the doorway.

“Heard you come in,” he says in a low rumble. “What happened to your face?”

“Some drunkard fancied a look at my sword and got a little handsy,” she says, hoping her lie is convincing. “Nothing I couldn’t manage.”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she breaks eye contact and pretends to fix her hair in the mirror. 

“Guessing your walk didn’t help much then,” he says, awkwardly shuffling his feet. _Why is he still here?_

“Not really, no.”

“Well if you’re done admiring yourself,” she huffs a laugh. “I’ll be going up for some air, keep an eye on the _Silence_. You can join me if you want.”

Does she really want to sit in silence with Jon after the night she’s had?

“Better than listening to Davos’ snores all night.” Jon turns with a small smirk on his face.

She hasn’t climbed to the roof by the chimney before. Jon must not have trusted her to sit watch, or maybe didn’t believe she’d recognize the ship if she saw it. She hadn’t minded before but now sat in the cool, night air, it’s not so bad.

They sit on opposites sides of the chimney, not facing each other. Him looking out to the harbour, and her up at the stars.

“Arya told me I shouldn’t have let you go, said it wasn’t safe. I thought since nobody was looking for you, you’d be fine.”

“I am fine.”

“Aye but…all the same.” He sounds almost apologetic and she can’t imagine why. A scratch is far from the worst she’s suffered at the hands of her brother and the brutes he’s married her off to.

They sit quietly for a while, only the sounds of the revels nearby and the wind coming in breaking their quiet. 

“Do you miss home?” He breaks the silence after a while.

Daenerys is tempted to lie some more, make up some sentimental answer but the stars are shining, and the night feels too pure all of a sudden to lie more than she has to, to survive. 

“Home isn’t home. Not while Viserys is content with doing nothing to make things better. I…I just want a place for myself and others where we can feel free to express ourselves without it being treated like some grave crime.” 

“Like treason?”

“Yes, exactly. People ought to feel able to disagree with each other without fearing for their safety.”

“Even to disagree with you?” She turns to face him, ready to argue, but sees only a teasing look on his face.

“Yes, even me, King Jon,” she teases right back.

“If you were a princess like you act half the bloody time, then it actually could be treason to disagree with you.”

_You have no idea._

“Well, I’m not a king. I don’t have a whole kingdom to call my own.” _Not yet, but you will soon if this all works out._ She’s ready to move away from talking about herself, “Do you miss home?” 

“Home isn’t home for me, not anymore. I love the North more than anything, at least I thought I did. But when you see more of the world it’s impossible to see your own home the same way.” Jon sits in silence a moment, a furrow in his brow as he contemplates. “I see the ways we’re doing much better and much worse than other places. But trying to get a Northman to change is like trying to get Tormund to bathe. It might not be far more effort than it’s worth, but they certainly make you feel like it is.”

She can’t help but laugh at that. “So, you run a nation of Tormund’s?”

“Pretty much.”

“Poor thing.” As their chuckles die off, she ventures a question of her own, “Is that why you like to travel so much?”

“I’m not sure I do anymore. I won’t lie, I liked it as an escape at first, but now, sometimes…it’s just a reason not to be there. I thought if I looked hard enough. I thought the North would always be my place, even when I didn’t want to be there, it was still _mine_ and I don’t feel that way anymore. The Ghost is the only place I feel I belong anymore, and I can’t sail forever,” he says with a half-hearted laugh.

“No, you can’t.” She understands what he means. A nomad life can sound quite appealing but all she really wants is for her home to be a safe place to be. 

Managing a pleasant conversation with him for more than thirty seconds has Daenerys willing to admit to herself she was wrong about some aspects of his character. The faith his crew feels towards him is not given blindly; she was wrong about that. The less apprehensive they’ve gotten around her, the more she knows it to be true. These people have weathered challenges together and are the stronger for it; and throughout it all there’s no one they trust more than their captain. He seems to carry so much burden upon him that he shoulders so they don’t have to. She still doesn’t entirely understand the bonds, but she doesn’t have to, to know that they’re genuine and not born of intimidation. 

A part of her wishes she could confide in him about the conflicts she’s facing, feels like he might understand. But, how could he? His hatred for sirens has been made plain and clear. 

And at the end of this, if he can’t see past his hatred, it might still end with her taking his life. She won’t steal his heart as a trophy, has already made that silent promise. And she truly hopes they can come to an arrangement but if not then she’ll take no enjoyment in killing him, something she wouldn’t have believed to be true a few weeks ago.

Not wanting to push their fragile bond any further she bids him goodnight. 

That night, for the first time in a while, Daenerys dreams of the red door. 

~~~

The next morning Jon sends Davos to the docks to keep an eye on things, and Arya and Tormund to fetch some supplies while he goes over the plan with Daenerys, who is just filled with questions. _Wonderful_, he thinks, trying not to roll his eyes. They got on last night, no need to ruin it with his own temper.__

_ _“So, Tormund said there’s a necklace to steal but-”_ _

_ _“It’s not really stealing if you’re taking it back,” he interrupts._ _

_ _She raises her eyebrows, not buying his bullshit for a minute. “But he didn’t say who it belongs to…”_ _

_ _“One of the Asshai princesses,” Gendry shoots him a guilty glance at that, worried for him that he’s going to end up in a loveless marriage at the end of this._ _

_ _“This princess sold her family’s secrets just to get her necklace back?” She scoffs._ _

_ _Jon can feel Gendry’s eyes on the back of his neck. “If I’m not misremembering you were willing to sacrifice your life for a necklace,” he forces a teasing tone into his voice, not wanting to think what will happen if all his plans fall through._ _

_ _“No, I was willing to sacrifice _your_ life,” she says with a dazzling smile. “But I’m still not sure how you’re so certain these pirates have it.”_ _

_ _“It’s like Davos said, if something important is stolen or missing and there’s not a word around about it, it’s most likely that Euron has it.”_ _

_ _“How do you know he won’t have sold it?”_ _

_ _“He doesn’t need to steal to survive, he does it just to prove that he can. A princess’ necklace from a famously mysterious family is just another artefact to show how good he is,” he replies._ _

_ _“If he’s that good how are you going to steal it from him?”_ _

_ _“That’s where you come in. Misdirection. While Euron’s looking over here,” he waves his right hand at her. “I’ll be stealing from him over here,” he waves his left hand, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction that it takes a moment for her eyes to catch on._ _

_ _“Okay,” she says nodding. “And in the likely event that your plan doesn’t work?” His satisfaction dies a quick death._ _

_ _“Why is it likely?”_ _

_ _“He’s a pirate,” she says as if its obvious. “People must try and steal from him all the time.” _ _

_ _“And none of those people are as good as me,” he replies, using her same tone. “But, you’re not _entirely_ wrong, it is always good to have a back-up plan.” He pulls a vial from a hidden pocket in his doublet._ _

_ _“Poison,” she says, sounding impressed. “Do you always have that close by? Keeping it safe for your future wife maybe?”_ _

_ _“It’s not lethal.” He might be a killer but he’s a little offended. He pauses for a moment, opting to match her teasing tone. “But if you were my future wife then aye, definitely.”_ _

_ _“If I was your future wife, I’d volunteer to take it.”_ _

_ _He barks a laugh at that. “Well, no need to worry on that front.”_ _

_ _“No, not since you’re already betrothed.”_ _

_ _Hesitantly he asks, “Why would you say that?”_ _

_ _“I wasn’t sure but your reaction isn’t exactly subtle. The princess didn’t just give away her secrets for her necklace back, did she? She gave them away because the princess wants to be a queen.” His shock must show as she continues. “Don’t look so surprised, it’s what royals do, what everyone does after all. Marry for power.”_ _

_ _“When I marry, if I marry…it won’t be for power.”_ _

_ _“For love, then?”_ _

_ _“Sacrifice.” The resignation in his voice comes through. If he doesn’t get the siren horn and at the very least deplete their numbers, his deal with Renly is through. The deal they made is reliant on the seas being safe for trade. Renly’s not going to waste sailors or ships travelling back and forth constantly to the nations Jon swore he’d set up trade with if there’s no guarantee he’ll receive his wares, or money in return for their supplies. If he fails, he’s not only losing his best chance at killing the Royal Bane and the Sea King, he’s losing all of his freedom. _ _

_ _“I suppose a lifetime with you would be quite the sacrifice,” Daenerys responds, filling the tense quiet that’s overtaken the room._ _

_ _“And what would you be losing?” He asks, shaking the melancholy off._ _

_ _“If I agreed to marry you…probably my mind.”_ _

_ _He laughs heartily at that, ignoring Gendry’s snort and eyeroll at him as he leaves the room._ _

_ _“You seem so assured in your opinions on marriage,” he says, hoping to keep the teasing going. It’s a break from everything else he’s feeling._ _

_ _“I was married,” the cheer dying from her voice._ _

_ _“He died?” He asks carefully._ _

_ _“He did.”_ _

_ _“I’m sorry.”_ _

_ _“Don’t be,” she says, shaking her head, a sheen glistening her eyes. “Like I said, people marry for power. In my case, my brother wanted more so he used me to get it.”_ _

_ _He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been ready to deem her entitled and arrogant but the more he knows her, the more he knows he’s got it wrong. “Your brother sounds like a real shit.” _ _

_ _She laughs lightly at that, wiping her eyes. “That might be the first thing we agree on.”_ _

_ _

_ _It’s not long until Arya and Tormund return from their mini mission to a local brothel._ _

_ _“How was it?” Jon asks as they stumble in, Arya hauling a huge bundle of fabric._ _

_ _“Wonderful,” Tormund replies, dreamily._ _

_ _“All right, clear out, we need to get Daenerys dressed,” Arya demands._ _

_ _At the small tavern that sits at the end of the harbour, Jon peers out the window drinking his ale. It’s the first time he’s ventured out since they arrived at the forge. The tavern not only gives him good vantage of Ragman’s Harbour, it’s not a place that anyone important who might recognize them would frequent, if they had any sense. _ _

_ _Davos seems relaxed enough, a formerly famous smuggler, he’s an old hand at operations like these. Tormund and Gendry seem anxious though, they usually are when Jon opts to do something dangerous when they’re not around. They just don’t normally have forewarning when it’s going to happen._ _

_ _“I could go with you,” Tormund tries for the umpteenth time._ _

_ _“As I’ve said,” he sighs, “the plan doesn’t work with you with me. It needs to be Daenerys.”_ _

_ _“It could be Arya.”_ _

_ _Both Jon and Gendry spit their drinks out._ _

_ _“No,” Jon says spluttering, “It absolutely could not.”_ _

_ _“While I disagree it should be Arya,” Gendry says, shooting a venomous look Tormund’s way. “He’s not wrong, you do need back-up and Daenerys is the least qualified.”_ _

_ _“If I do this right, I won’t need back-up,” he reminds them. “Just a distraction.”_ _

_ _It’s far from the first time he’s stolen from someone dangerous and he gets that pleasant buzz going that’s nothing to do with the ale. It comes rarely, this feeling of actually being alive and unfortunately for the others only seems to come when he’s courting danger. _ _

_ _“Let’s go over it one more time,” Davos says, “Just to ease worries.”_ _

_ _Jon can see Euron lounging at the ends of the docks from here. Lounging while his crew bring him wine and food. He’s not doing anything, just sitting in a portable chair and intimidating all who pass. “When Daenerys and I get on the ship with Euron, you all move downwards and hide in plain sight with the crossbows, just in case we need you. Don’t make a move unless you’re certain we need you. The last thing we need is Euron spotting you.” _ _

_ _Captain Snow and his league or siren killers walking down the deck to another famed man of the sea would only end in blood. But King Jon, an arrogant youth, high on his own accomplishments, taking a daytime stroll with a paid paramour is unlikely to arouse suspicion in Euron. It’s not the kind of behaviour Jon’s ever taken part in, but it’s not at all uncommon for kings and it’s the best way to get Euron to let his guard down._ _

_ _Speaking of his paramour, Arya and Daenerys make their grand entrance. Jon swears he can hear men gulping at the sight of her._ _

_ _And he can see why. He’s gotten used to her hair being braided out of the way, or wild from the sea air. But whatever she and Arya have done has tamed it into soft waves. The dress she’s wearing is white and floor length, with cut-outs showing her chest and abdomen. The straps that connect the bodice and the skirt seem to be designed to look like blue fish scales and crossover her body, highlighting all the places he shouldn’t be gawping at. Her face is bare aside from the barest of rouge on her cheeks and lips. She looks beautiful. If Euron has any sense to him he’ll think the same._ _

_ _The thought has him briefly very angry before he pushes it away. _You want Euron to find her beautiful, it’s a good thing,_ he tells himself._ _

_ _There’s no chance he doesn’t take notice of her. Looking at her now he thinks it would be impossible for her to lay low. Daenerys might be good at keeping secrets, but she can’t keep the peace, and can’t seem to stop herself from saying what she’s thinking. Some people burn so brightly it’s impossible to put the flames out. Thankfully, that’s just what he needs._ _

_ _“Well?” Arya asks_ _

_ _“Aye, it’s um, good. It’s good.” _ _

_ _“She doesn’t look like a whore,” Gendry says._ _

_ _“And what, exactly, does a whore look like?” Arya asks, voice lilting but eyes sharp._ _

_ _“Uh…well, not, you know,” he coughs loudly, holding up one finger in the universal signal for _‘give me a moment’.__ _

_ _“I’m not mad you’ve seen a whore Gendry, I’ve seen a whore. I stole this dress from a brothel. _We_ went to a brothel together one time.”_ _

_ _For the second time that day, Jon’s drink flies everywhere, “What?”_ _

_ _“I’m mad,” Arya continues, ignoring him, “that you think they have a designated look. As if they’re not individual people.”_ _

_ _“Oh,” Gendry relaxes somewhat, “…sorry?”_ _

_ _“Why I haven’t thrown you overboard yet, I’ll never know,” she says under her breath._ _

_ _“Enough talk of brothels and you being in brothels,” Jon pleads, shuffling out of his seat. He turns to Daenerys, trying not to stare at her slightly reddened lips. “Ready to risk your life for me?”_ _

_ _“That depends, are you sure you trust me not to use my two weeks of sword training and stab you in the back? I hear Euron’s very nice.” He chuckles at that, feeling more at ease with their mental sparring than sincerity like the night before._ _

_ _“What the fuck did you just-” Tormund starts, getting out of his seat._ _

_ _“It’s a joke Tormund, lighten up,” she says, turning on her heel and heading for the door._ _

_ _Walking slowly towards the _Silence_, Jon points out things about the other ships to Daenerys, trying to look nonchalant. _ _

_ _“Just remember, if you want this fool is meant to believe you and I are together, you’re going to have to look a little less sullen.” There’s more bite in her tone than usual, his ship facts must be very boring if she’s that annoyed._ _

_ _“As long as you remember, that if this goes sideways, I’m not risking my neck to save you,” he responds._ _

_ _As they near him Jon sees that Euron is quite literally counting his gold. _ _

_ _ _What a prick._ _ _

_ _“How will he know who you are?” Daenerys whispers_ _

_ _“We might not be acquaintances, but we have crossed paths in different harbours every now and then. We know each other by reputation.”_ _

_ _When they approach the man, slouching in his chair, it takes a moment for him to notice. His one blue eye looks up at him, his equally blue lips turning up in a sneer. _ _

_ _“If it isn’t the White Wolf. Where’s your bodyguard today?”_ _

_ _“Tormund isn’t with us.”_ _

_ _“I don’t mean the ginger, I mean the little one. Your sister,” he says standing and leaning against the ropes of the walkway to his ship. _ _

_ _“Like I said, it’s just me and my lady today. Why’d you look so paranoid? Surely you’re not intimidated by me and my woman?” He scoffs an arrogant laugh and represses a wince when Daenerys pinches him where her hand is tucked into his arm._ _

_ _“And who’s this then?” He asks, leering at Daenerys._ _

_ _“Not a guard dog.”_ _

_ _“Are you sure? She certainly looks like a bitch to me.”_ _

_ _ _Do not spit in his face. Do not spit in his face._ _ _

_ _He slides his arm out from Daenerys’ and around her waist. “Ever the charmer, Greyjoy. And after I told her we’d come and admire your ship.”_ _

_ _“Admire it,” he repeats slowly, “or steal it?”_ _

_ _“I know I’m the most impressive man on the seas, but even I couldn’t steal a ship this size by myself. What do you think,” he turns to Daenerys, “could we manage to sneak this ship away?”_ _

_ _“Maybe, nothing here looks all that big anyway,” she says with a subtle up and down look at Euron and Jon bites the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing._ _

_ _Euron doesn’t look like he believes a word of it, but he’s just unhinged enough to not care much if he’s being threatened. He’s yet to be bested, why would an unloved king and his lover be all that troubling? _ _

_ _“Come aboard then,” he says, going up the walkway. “We’ll have wine fit for kings.”_ _

_ _An obvious jab but it lands, nonetheless. Jon is a king who has no desire to be one, at least not when his vassals openly resent him. It doesn’t require a genius to figure out a king who is never at home must not enjoy being one. Euron might not be a king but he has designs on it, even if he’s been passed over before. Possibly the only trait they share is their stubbornness. _ _

_ _On deck, Euron snaps his fingers and a table with three chairs and goblets is set up hastily and silently._ _

_ _The wine is an expensive Volantese, with gold dust floating throughout, only available for the absurdly wealthy in Volantis. Jon had heard rumour that the last few bottles had all gone missing on one night, he’d forgotten that story until now. Who else would have it except Euron Greyjoy?_ _

_ _“Go on, drink up,” he says, leaning back in his chair._ _

_ _Without delay Daenerys brings it to her mouth and has a taste, keeping eye contact with Euron while she does so. Jon spots a drop of blood on her tongue when she licks her lips from the gold shards in the bottle._ _

_ _His anger seeps out of him as Daenerys licks her lips and sighs. She’s playing her part perfectly and Euron devours her with his eyes. A little bit of anger seeps back in at that. _ _

_ _“Delightful,” she says with a breathy sigh, leaning forward over the table, letting her hand lightly touch Euron’s as she puts her goblet down._ _

_ _Euron’s lustful gaze stays on her before he turns to Jon. “Are we going to stop playing or what? What is it you came here for?”_ _

_ _Daenerys slinks back in her chair, looking timid all of a sudden. _Good._ The plan was always to stop playing. To let Euron’s suspicions get the better of him. To have his men keep watch over the docks, where hopefully the others have blended in quite nicely, to think that Jon is just another arrogant royal flaunting a woman as a distraction. Everything to make Daenerys seem the most harmless part of the plan, just a woman he paid a gold coin to help him out._ _

_ _“There is something,” Jon demurs, swirling his wine around._ _

_ _“Spit it out and maybe we can come to an agreement.”_ _

_ _Jon’s no fool, there’ll be no agreement. But that’s okay, because he isn’t exactly playing by the rules either._ _

_ _“There’s a glowing ruby amulet, disappeared from the North recently. I’d hoped you’d have some information on it.”_ _

_ _“You come onto my ship to sling accusations,” he responds, an eerie grin on his face._ _

_ _“It’s very dear to me, if it were returned to me there’d be no trouble.”_ _

_ _“I’m not worried about trouble from you, boy. But as it happens, I do have some information. It’s big though. Mighty expensive information.”_ _

_ _“How expensive?”_ _

_ _“Oh, I don’t know,” he turns to one of silent crew and nods as if they’re having a conversation. “Yes, you’re right. About the cost of a ship, I’d say.”_ _

_ _He could see that one coming. Euron thrived on unpredictability but that move was obvious._ _

_ _“Never going to happen. How am I supposed to know you’re not the one who has it anyway?” He lets his voice rise, sounding a little whiney. “I’m not going to give you a ship for information on something you might have already stolen.”_ _

_ _“I told you I don’t have it.”_ _

_ _“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?_ _

_ _“You expect me to take you below deck so you can get your thieving fingers on my treasure?” He sits forward, adjusting his eye path. Jon catches a glimpse of utter darkness behind it. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”_ _

_ _Jon huffs, crossing his arms. Playing up to Euron’s idea of him, the boy king dressing up as a pirate and playing hero. “Fine,” he waves a dismissive hand at Daenerys. “Let her do it then. There’s no way you’re getting my ship without me confirming the amulet isn’t here.”_ _

_ _Daenerys’ eyes widen, looking caught off guard. _ _

_ __She really is very good at this._ He reminds himself to congratulate her on her lying skills later. _ _

_ _“How will she know what to look for?”_ _

_ _“It’s a glowing red ruby amulet,” Jon enunciates each word slowly. “She’s not that stupid.”_ _

_ _While her face shows a petulant pout, she stomps on his foot hard under the table. He hears footsteps approaching from on deck behind them, all pain is forgotten and he’s instantly on guard. A thin man draped in a black cloak rounds the table, back to Jon, and whispers something in Euron’s ear._ _

_ _ _Fuck. He knows this man._ _ _

_ _Qyburn. The man who sent him on this quest by giving him a piece of information he would never have thought to look for. _ _

_ _He thought he would get a small victory over Euron by stealing the necklace, but he’s been playing a much bigger game this whole time. Euron must have sent Qyburn to the North. _ _

_ _Euron sent him after the siren horn._ _

_ _“I have a new deal to make,” Euron starts. “I know what people say of me and my men but one thing someone like you could learn from me is discipline. My men have already spotted yours hiding amongst the dockworkers. If you want them to live, it would be smart to tell me how you plan to get to the siren horn.”_ _

_ _“I have an even better deal. I kill you before your crew can make a move.” Jon says, barely contained rage flecking every word._ _

_ _“Don’t be so dramatic, I don’t want to have the power of the North down on me. Though now that I think about it,” he scratches his chin in faux contemplation, “The North’s power resides entirely on their king’s siren hunting ability. Not a lot of trade from the land, not a lot of men to take up arms. Especially not seafaring men. If their third king died in such a short amount of time by siren, well they’d never want to set foot on a ship again. And it would be easy to take you somewhere and toss you overboard, they’d never know any better. Your friends could whisper, or I could kill them too.” He stares deep into Jon’s eyes, as if compelling him with his stare alone. “Or you could just tell me what I want to know.”_ _

_ _He can’t let his panic show. He has to take back some ground, delay and hope a better idea springs to mind. “Why are you so interested in it anyway? How did you even find out about it?”_ _

_ _“You think you were the first one Qyburn went to with his information?” Euron barks a laugh and Jon glances at Qyburn, the same slight smirk on his face, like he knew something no one else did. Turned out to be a good instinct, if only he had trusted it more. “He came to me and spun the tale a long time ago but I’m a travelled man and I know a grain of truth in a myth when I hear it. I’d heard other myths about the properties of the Asshai jewellery and went searching until I found it. No other man could have survived what I did. And the price I paid was a speaking man on my ship, though he learned to be quiet. He got to do his experiments on the sirens I captured and I got the secrets of the Citadel.” He leans forward, too close for Jon’s comfort. “Then Qyburn came to you, a king with all his resources that a poor man like me doesn’t have.” He touches his hands to his chest in a self-pitying gesture as if he’s not a disgraced royal himself. _ _

_ _Jon buries his head in his hands, legs jumping up and down agitatedly. But he can’t beat back the anger at having to sell his freedom to get where he has on this journey, while all Euron had to do was buddy up with a fellow unstable man with a sadistic streak. Euron had nothing to lose so had bet nothing on this venture, except his life, but anyone who takes to the sea bets that. Jon had put his kingdom on the line, his crew, his family. He was too caught up in his crusade to see bigger machinations at play. Pathetic. He was pathetic. _ _

_ _“Why do you care so much about killing the Sea King?” He asks, raising his head._ _

_ _“Who gives a fuck about your war with the sea serpents,” he spits. “You’re still thinking too small, boy. If I get the horn, I control the oldest magic there is, more power over the ocean than any other living creature. If the Sea King or the Royal Bane or any of the others come for me, I’ll do what I’ve done to the rest. Sirens are nothing to a god.”_ _

_ _“I still don’t understand, why involve me at all?”_ _

_ _“I could get some of the information, most of it, but not all. I figured you’d try and get the information from an Asshai royal. I didn’t know you had one hiding in your kingdom, that made the wait a lot easier for me,” Euron chuckles. “You know the way up the mountain, and I now have entry. They’re strange those Asshai, they’ll know I’m in their kingdom the second I set foot down. A pirate isn’t getting anywhere near the ice palace.”_ _

_ _“But a king might,” Daenerys mutters._ _

_ _“Smart girl,” Euron grins at her. “Whatever crystal ball they look into will show the White Wolf on their shores. By the time they figure out _ _

_ _“One issue with your plan, I didn’t bring my map.”_ _

_ _Euron’s plan will never work. The Asshai won’t let _Euron fucking Greyjoy_ stroll around their kingdom even if he brings Jon. But his half-baked deluded plan is the least of his worries. Right now, he’s focused on keeping himself and Daenerys alive. The others can take care of themselves, he’s sure of it. But he’s currently surrounded by half a dozen heretical men who worship their captain as a god with only his sword and his blade to him. He’s not even going to count the rest of the men onboard._ _

_ _“No worries, you’re an obsessive man Jon, just like me,” he stands and whacks Jon on the back, “I don’t doubt you’ve stared at that thing long enough to memorise it. If you’re a good boy and talk freely,” he pats Jon cheek, “I won’t submerge your kingdom when I get the horn. I’m not usually a man of my word but I promise this time. Really.” He curls his lip contemptuously and goes back to his seat, lounging as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “But if you insist on being stubborn, we’ll have plenty of time on the way for us to find new ways to make you and your lady talk.”_ _

_ _Jon looks to Daenerys. She lifts her head as if looking down on Euron, something he’s seen her do so many times before. There’s a slight flush to her cheeks but other than that there’s no signs of fear. If she’s scared, she’s great at hiding it. _ _

_ _“Just so there’s no misunderstandings between us,” she says picking up her goblet, staring down into it. “I’m not his lady.” _ _

_ _She leaps forward tossing the drink into his eye. Euron screams, clutching his face. Jon takes the opportunity to jump up and draw Longclaw, tossing Daenerys his dagger. _ _

_ _“You cunt!” He howls, trying to blindly draw his sword. Blood flows from all the gold flakes cutting into his skin as he fruitlessly tries to rub them away, only seeming to make it worse. _ _

_ _Daenerys draws another small blade from her boot, one of Arya’s he’d wager._ _

_ _“You really think that was a good idea?” Euron snarls._ _

_ _“No, but it was worth it,” she replies._ _

_ _They stand back to back, Jon facing the blank eyed, tongue-less men of the _Silence_, Daenerys facing Euron. _ _

_ _Euron lunges for her as the crew lunge for him. He doesn’t have time to worry about Daenerys as he avoids blows designed to kill. She’s fighting a blind opponent practically, she’ll be fine. _ _

_ _He feints when one of the men lunges for him, thrusting Longclaw through one’s gut before slashing another’s throat. He spins quickly, ducking another blow and cutting one man off at the knees. He doesn’t stop for a breath, just blocks blow after blow, throwing a fist when he can._ _

_ _When he’s down to just one opponent, the dagger he handed Daenerys goes skidding across the deck. He tries to keep an eye on her as he wards off blows. She’s stabbed Arya’s blade into Euron’s thigh, but he has her by the hair. They lock eyes for a brief second before he punches hard once into her face. She goes down, hitting her head on the deck. _ _

_ _In the next moment a blade slices across his chest. He barely feels the pain until he’s on his side, arm clutched to himself, agony slowly coursing through him._ _

_ _He rolls onto his back as Euron appears above him._ _

_ _“To think, when I tortured you, I was going to let you keep your cock,” he says as his blood rains down onto Jon._ _

_ _The last thing he sees is Euron’s boot coming down on his face._ _

_ _

_ _~~~_ _

_ _

_ _She’s been kicking Jon for twenty minutes when he finally starts to drift awake. They’re stuck in a room, not unlike the one she was kept in on the _Ghost_. This one, at least, has a window. There are two thick wooden beams in the room, a thin cuff on their wrists attached to a much wider one around the beams. These cuffs seem specially made. Maybe this is where he tortures his sirens. Maybe she’ll die where so many of her kind have before. _ _

_ _The ship is rocking over the waves, however long they’ve been out was enough time for the _Silence_ to set sail. _ _

_ _What happened to Arya and Davos and Gendry? Tormund too. _Even her thought of concern for him comes reluctantly.__ _

_ _“How long have we been down here?” Jon groans._ _

_ _“Not sure, I think I’ve been awake for half an hour or so but before that…” she trails off._ _

_ _“Come on, try and get your wrist out,” Jon says, immediately wincing as he tries to force his hand through the cuff, blood still drying on his chest._ _

_ _At a time like this, she really misses her song. If she could, she’d sing one so vicious blood would pour from Euron’s ears, his and all of his crew’s heads bursting. Instead she has her weak human limbs, too weak to even force her wrist through a metal cuff._ _

_ _She can’t help but feel a bit guilty. Jon got distracted looking to see if she was okay. They were both stuck here because she couldn’t fight a blind man. To be fair, he was a crazed blind man, swinging his sword wildly in every direction, not leaving room for her to strike. She has slashes over her arms and torso where she barely managed to dodge him._ _

_ _“We should have just killed Euron when he was on the docks. Stormed the ship and killed the others,” she mutters dejectedly. _ _

_ _“You can’t just kill everyone you don’t like.”_ _

_ _“I’m well aware of that, Jon, otherwise you’d be dead too.”_ _

_ __Liar_, a voice in her head shouts at her._ _

_ _

_ _Before he can respond, the ceiling rattles, sawdust falling over them. It sounds like thunder rolling in, growing closer. They can hear Euron yelling incomprehensible words from above them._ _

_ _A grin slowly spreads across Jon’s face. “Here she comes.”_ _

_ _The whole ship rocks, both of them falling on their sides._ _

_ _“What is that?” She yells over the noise._ _

_ _“Cannons,” he says, of a much brighter disposition than he was a minute ago. _ _

_ _“They came for us?” She asks, a hopeful lilt in her voice._ _

_ _“Of course they fucking did,” he says, “Fuck! It’s too tight,” he growls, his thumb hanging loose from its socket as he tries to force his wrist through once more._ _

_ _The words have barely left his lips before a cannonball crashes through the window and straight through the beam Jon’s attached to. Wood explodes everywhere, both of them ducking and covering their heads with their free hands. _ _

_ _Her heart rattling in her chest they look up at each other. Jon shakes the dust from his hair and stands, pulling the cuff with him and sliding it off the now broken beam. He turns to her with a wicked smile on his face before it abruptly drops. _ _

_ _The ship keeps rocking dangerously, cannons firing at each other with abandon. But he’s free and she’s still stuck. _ _

_ _He crouches by her, reaching for her wrist and trying to squeeze her hand through. But whoever cuffed them was smart. They’d left no room to manoeuvre a hand through no matter how many fingers you dislocated._ _

_ _He stands and tries to rattle the other side of the handcuffs, but it barely moves. Then he starts kicking at the beam, relentlessly. _ _

_ _The _Ghost_ is close enough now for her to hear the screams intermingling with Euron’s howls. They might drop a gangplank soon and board this sinister ship. Jon’s the best fighter of them all and they’ll need him if they hope to get out alive. How many of his crew have to die in brutal battle, all to save the captives. _ _

_ _But they didn’t come for her. They came for their captain. She doesn’t know Jon well, but she knows his heart lies with the people coming to save him. She knows by their side, defending them is where he needs to be. The crew of the _Silence_may have less men onboard but they’re vicious and devoted to a mad man. They’ll put up a good fight._ _

_ _She’s felt lost much of her life, like she was always where she wasn’t supposed to be. She’s spent so long being angry and resentful about her circumstances, too long. But if these are her last moments then she doesn’t want to drag anyone down with her. Even if that person is a killer. _ _

_ _She wants to be good in the end, to make her mother proud._ _

_ _“Go,” she says, barely more than a whisper._ _

_ _“What?” He asks, incredulous._ _

_ _“Just go.”_ _

_ _“Being a martyr doesn’t suit you,” he growls, still kicking pointlessly,_ _

_ _“And being a hero doesn’t suit you, either,” she hisses._ _

_ _“I’m not leaving you here.”_ _

_ _Roars of fury and pain pierce the air above them. His crew are up there, fighting and dying. He stops kicking, looking up to the ceiling before back down at her. His jaw clenched, sorrow and guilt in his eyes. _ _

_ _“I can’t-”_ _

_ _“Go!” She screams at him._ _

_ _And with one anguished look back at her, the White Wolf, her enemy, runs out of the cabin and leaves her to her doom._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's probably typo's galore but in my defence i'm tired
> 
> was aiming for book!euron but ended up hitting show!euron. oh well
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter


	10. deeper into the drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor attempted sexual assault

The fighting roars on overhead. It can’t be long until the crew of the _Ghost_ start their retreat

She wonders if she’ll turn back into a siren after she dies and can’t help a small hysterical giggle at the thought of Euron’s reaction. Will she turn into a siren and _then_ dissolve? It’s been a long time since sirens were able to turn into humans, she’s not sure of the process when they pass away. Even in those times, they were able to turn at their own will, not forced by another siren.

Despite it all, in the moments where she’s sure of her death, she can’t entirely regret her experience as a human. It’s opened her eyes to what were previously only ideas planted by her mother. Not all humans as enemies seemed good in theory, but her life experiences had never really shown that to be the case. Until recently. 

Her mind is wandering to avoid the reality of the situation. Jon and his crew will escape, and she’ll be left here to die. She doesn’t regret her decision to tell Jon to save himself, but panic is setting in. 

_I don’t want to die. I’m not ready. I’m frightened. Please._

If there are gods, she prays they’ll listen. All she wants is a chance to do good. To do _better._ To change the way things have been going for several hundred years. But she’s not going to get the chance.

Before her melancholy can drown her, furious footsteps rattle down towards the door left open by Jon’s swift retreat. There’s a tiny spark of hope in her chest that she hasn’t been left behind.

Instead she’s greeted by an enraged Euron rounding the door. She should know better by now than to hope.

There’s a slash in his breeches where Daenerys stabbed him with Arya’s dagger, the blood dried over and some hasty, thick stitches marring his skin. Blood drips from his eyebrow over his eyepatch, and the other eye is swollen and red from the gold flakes, altogether making him look as dangerous as he is. 

She sees his eyes quickly scan the room, the broken window and debris shattered beam, before settling on her.

“Where is he?” He roars, kicking the splinters of the broken beam. She says nothing.

He grabs her by the straps of her dress and hauls her to her feet, pushing her back against the beam and pinning her free hand against her stomach.

“Where. Is He?” His forced calm whisper in her ear is more frightening than any scream could be. 

“Killing your men I suppose,” she says, with equally forced apathy. She might be frightened, but Daenerys will be damned before she lets this lunatic know he scares her. Her last moments will not be spent begging for mercy from a man who would never grant it.

He leans his forearm against her neck, cutting off her air. “That bastard is tearing my ship apart. He’s declared war!”

“I think…you…did that…when you,” she wheezes between words when he lessens the pressure, “Kidnapped…a king.”

Euron narrows his eyes. The pure rage in his eyes, his entire body, is replaced by something else. Calculation. That can’t be good.

“You should want him dead as much as I do.” He runs a finger down her cheek. "You played your little part and he left for dead on a ship his crew are trying to sink.” His argument is punctuated by the ship rocking from another cannon blow. 

If he expects her to feel betrayed, he’s wrong. She told him to leave and he did. Her gut instinct tells her that if she asked him to stay he would have. He’d have continued kicking and clawing at the beam until it was too late for them both. Her death would be futile, his didn’t have to be the same.

“Are you going to kill me or just slowly bore me to death?” 

Euron chuckles at that. “Brave little girl. I could always use more crew. You could be our first girl. What an honour!” He bares his teeth at her, in what must pass for a smile in his maniacal brain. “I’d have to cut that pretty tongue of yours out, of course. Unless you were a good girl but I don’t see that being the case.”

She ignores his vile words and focuses on the blade on Euron’s belt. Currently, he’s leaning on the arm that pins hers against her stomach, pushing most of his body weight onto hers so she can barely move her hand.

She’s still stuck but killing Euron wouldn’t be a bad final act. She just needs to get him off her even for a moment, so she can grab his knife.

She takes another glance at his belt. Even the hilt is dripping blood where he must have plunged it into someone. She must glance too long because he leans into her, “Don’t go getting any idea-”

He’s cut off by the ship rocking again, not a smaller one like before. Daenerys doesn’t need to see to know this blow has done real damage. There’s no salvaging this ship now, it’s going to sink which means she’s going to drown. On the upside, Euron can’t keep his balance even when he’s leaning mostly on her. His hold on her loosens just a little, so he takes the inch and makes it a mile. Headbutting him as hard as she can, he recoils, and she grabs for the knife. 

She’s got it raised, ready to stab him in the neck when he throws all his body weight against her, his hand going to wrestle with hers on the hilt. 

With both their hands fighting for dominance, the bloody hilt flies across the cabin. Euron takes half a step back to go for it when she brings her knee up hard between his legs. Doubled over now, she smacks, punches, kicks and claws at him ferociously. She might have been preparing to die but she would not die at the hands of this brute. She was a creature of the sea, drowning was perhaps a more poetic way to go. 

He shoves her back against the beam hard, making her a little lightheaded. His face now covered in small welts and scratches. He goes for the knife while she scrambles on all fours, crawling around the beam and searching for something she can use as a weapon, her eyes unfocused from hitting her head. Before she can find something, Euron is dragging her back towards him by her leg, her hand grasping for anything that might help. 

He pulls her to her feet and leans most of his body weight against her like before. Now with the addition of a knife to her throat. “You’re going to pay for that,” he says, spitting blood in her face. He shoves her legs apart with his own, her dress rustling up to her knees and leaning hard against her between her legs. “Pretty dress,” he runs the hand not holding the knife down to her hip, “Shame it’s going to get all torn up.”

“Hmm,” Daenerys concedes. “Shame it’s going to get your blood all over it.” She thrusts her hand up under his gambeson, piercing his gut with a piece of shrapnel, then twisting it sharply.

His face contorts violently, a tiny gasp escaping his throat. Before he can put pressure on the knife to her throat, she knees him between his legs again, still twisting and twisting the wooden shrapnel until he drops the knife, stumbling back several steps and then drops himself.

She doesn’t know why but she’s shaking. This is the first life she’s taken since becoming human and not one she regrets taking either. But all she can hear in her head is Viserys encouraging her to kill when they were younger. When he’d just become king and she thought everything was going to be okay, they would be safe now. 

Instead he became the most dangerous adversary to her, and over time, whether he knows it yet or not, she became the same to him.

Euron’s eyes are shut, his face slack and in that face, she sees all the people she’s drowned, all the hearts she’s stolen. Not all of them were innocent, many were not, but there was a time when she was young and only wanted her brother’s approval, only wanted to bask in his love when he saw fit to give it to her. 

As she got older, she made an effort to make sure she was killing those who deserved it, slavers and traffickers, but in her head right now all of them combine, the guilty and the ones she killed because he asked it of her. For so long, her life has been nothing but death and destruction and she can’t entirely blame Viserys, she should have stood up to him sooner, done more, _been_ more.

Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply until her mind separates the righteous kills from the others, until her panic recedes and her mind comes back to her. There’s a part of Daenerys that liked that as a human she had a clean slate from killing. How quickly she tarnished it. But she can feel the imprint of Euron’s hand against her throat, his body between her legs and the guilt dissipates. Her clean slate might be gone but so is Euron and that’s a fair trade.

Opening her eyes, a glint of red catches her eye from Euron’s chest. She stretches so she can reach him where she’s still handcuffed and pulls aside his gambeson. There on his chest is the lost necklace from Asshai. She twists the clasp free and stands. What now? 

She has the necklace but that isn’t going to help anyone since she’s stuck down here. She could use his knife to cut a couple fingers off, then her hand would definitely slide through the impossibly tight handcuff. Gruesome but effective, though she’s going to be incredibly embarrassed if she does this only to find the others have left already. 

As if fate has finally decided to be on her side, several pairs of heaving footsteps pound near the door, and rounding the frame is Jon, holding a crossbow in his arms, his cuffs still dangling from one wrist.

He doesn’t even glance at Euron, crossing the room toward her. His eyebrows shoot up at all the blood on her dress.

“It’s all his,” she says, reassuring him. His eyes shimmer with relief. He’s got a few new scratches; he’s covered in soot and his curly hair is flying every which way but otherwise he looks unharmed.

He drops his crossbow as he reaches her, holding her by the shoulders, still running his eyes over her.

“I thought I got rid of you already,” she breathes out, so full of relief now that he came back for her. Jon smiles widely at her. She’s _never_ seen him smile like that and is a little disconcerted but can’t help returning it. 

His smile drops suddenly though when he notices the thin cut on her throat where Euron’s knife dug in. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving you. This would be the second time. Not that I’m keeping count.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” she scoffs.

“So, you don’t want the key to the cuffs then? I should go tell Gendry to stop searching,” he takes a step back as if to leave and she grabs his shirt, laughing.

“I just…I can’t believe you came back for me,” she says, not bothering to make a joke out of it or try and hide her gratitude. 

Jon shakes his head as if not understanding her. Looking at each other, their eyes try to communicate what neither of them has the words to say. 

But before either of them gains the courage to open their mouths, Arya and Tormund round the corner, staying by the doorframe.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Tormund says nodding at Euron. Jon seems to notice Euron for the first time. 

“A little late for that.”

“Did he hurt you?” Arya asks

“He tried,” she responds.

“Where’s Gendry?” Jon asks his sister.

“He’s still up there looking, it’s carnage.”

“He better fucking hurry, this piece of shit is taking on water fast,” Tormund grunts.

“We can all thank Davos when we get back,” Jon says.

“Hopefully he can hold off on any more cannonballs until we’re back onboard,” Daenerys adds.

“Aye, that would be ideal,” he replies, looking at her softly. It was a dangerous look, that. It wasn’t a look shared by people who feel indifferently towards one another. 

Behind Jon, she sees Euron twitch. She would swear on her life that time seems to slow down, before she can do anything the crossbow Jon had dropped was in Euron’s hand. 

Not aimed at her though, aimed at Jon.

She can hear a panicked yell start to escape Arya’s mouth as a roar escapes Tormund’s but its all muted in the rushing sound in her ears.

Jon had mildly irritated her with his talk of life debts, but he hadn’t lied. He had saved her from the sea and from a sinking ship, or made an attempt to anyway. So, she didn’t even hesitate to bodily shove him away when Euron pulled the trigger. 

A sound pierced the air like sharp wind followed by Jon’s grunt as his body slammed onto the floor. 

There’s an instant of peace when Daenerys knows she’s succeeded in saving him. They were practically even now.

Then there's only the pain of metal tearing through her vulnerable human skin.

She crumples to the ground, screams around her that she can’t make sense of. Jon’s hand cradling her head as another, pushes painfully on her abdomen, his worried, frantic eyes locked on hers.

As her own drift shut, she only has one thought. 

_Not yet. _

__

__

_Not ready. _

_Please._

~~~

Jon had nearly died once. He’d nearly died many times, in fact, but the one he has in mind was the time he came the closest.

After his father had died but before Robb, when he was still in The Watch, some of his men hadn’t liked how his focus was so divided between family and duty. He was meant to forego his family loyalty when he signed up, but he couldn’t, no matter how he tried. So, they’d took knives to him. He still remembered cold steel against cutting through him, over and over. He remembered further back, when the woman who was supposed to be his first love, had shot arrow and arrow into him. That wasn’t love, not really, but he hadn’t learned that yet. 

He’s thinking of the knives and the arrows as he races through the ship as quickly as he can without exacerbating her pain. He’s thinking how he’d gladly take another knife or arrow, even take his first crossbow bolt, if it would take away her agony.

Arya had been on Euron a second too late, a hard kick to the head and he was out. Jon roared for Tormund to get Gendry, and when he finally appeared, every second a torturous wait, he’d struggled to get the key into the lock. Jon’s hands were shaking as much as Gendry’s just watching him.

He thought he might combust when Gendry had said, “They’re the wrong keys.” But before he could explode and murder his sister’s beloved, Gendry had picked up his warhammer where it laid on the floor beside him and took swing after swing at the beam until it collapsed, large chunks of the ceiling coming with it. Jon shielded Dany until it stopped falling and then swiftly lifted her, her cuff dangling from a limp wrist.

Arya ran ahead to prepare what little medical supplies they had and to make sure Mollander, the closest thing to a maester they had, wasn’t drunk or dying. 

The deck was covered in the dead, most of the fighting done aside from a few stragglers that Gendry took care of, while Tormund had a dying Euron thrown over his shoulder. Daenerys was whimpering softly as he tried to step carefully over the dead. He grew more worried when she stopped making noise altogether. 

When they’re finally back aboard the _Ghost_, Jon nods Davos over to him not stopping his stride.

“Casualties?”

“Three, Captain. They fought well.”

“Everyone else?”

“Accounted for and on board.”

“Good, prepare to sink that piece of shit and its crew with it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Davos says dutifully, sparing a quick pained glance at the pale woman lying in his arms. 

They crew clear space as Jon follows the sound of Arya’s yelling voice into the room where they dine. The table has been cleared and Jon lies Daenerys down. 

“Keep pressure on the wound,” Mollander says, darting around and gathering supplies, as if Jon is a moron who doesn’t know that.

She convulses a little as he applies pressure, her eyelids fluttering.

“You can’t die, Dany,” he whispers for her ears only. 

“I know,” she whispers back. “I still have a mountain to climb.”

His laugh is watery as he strokes her hair back from her face with his free hand. “Besides, you still owe me.”

“Not anymore,” she smiles weakly, still not opening her eyes. “I got you a present.”

Her uncuffed hand opens and reveals Melisandre’s necklace. He hadn’t noticed her holding anything in all the ruckus. 

He leans his forehead against her temple. “Always showing me up, aren’t you?” When she doesn’t respond he shakes her gently, “Dany?”

She can’t lose consciousness again. If she does, she might never wake up. If she never wakes up, he’ll…it just can’t happen. 

Her blood-soaked hand covers his against the wound around the bolt still in her body. “It doesn’t burn,” she mutters before her hand goes slack on his.

Mollander shoves him out the way and pours something over where the blood seeps from her. “Oh dear,” is all the former novice says.

“What?” Jon demands impatiently.

“Usually that’s when they move or scream.” But Daenerys hadn’t moved a muscle. “Cut open her dress, I need to see the wound clearly.”

Now it’s Jon’s turn to be static because all he can see is blood. There’s barely any white left to her dress. Her dress, her skin, his hands. All red.

Arya steps forward and cuts the top of her dress from the skirt pooling it down to just above her hips so Mollander can work. 

He feels sick at the sight of the grey bolt embedded in her white skin. 

_She’s not usually so pale. How much blood can you survive on?_

He should know but he didn’t have this view when he nearly died. Is there even any blood left in her?

Tormund appeared at the door. “He’s tied up above boss.” Even Tormund looks shocked at Daenerys’ deathly appearance. “Will she be alright?”

“Do you care?” He snaps back.

“I don’t want her to die, crow,” Tormund says gently. “She protected you when your own crew couldn’t. That makes her one of us.”

“Looks like a clean shot,” Mollander says. The irony of that gnaws at Jon. It was a dirty shot, through and through. “It’s just scraped her ribs. I don’t think it’s hit anything important.”

“There was so much blood,” he mutters. How could it not be important?

“If it had hit an organ, she’d be dead already,” Mollander says casually, as if such a statement wasn’t capable of shattering Jon in that moment. “We need to get the bolt out without doing more damage. I need clean towels, sheets, anything. Get Gendry while you’re at it, he can help me cut the bolt.”

Tormund races from the room without a word.

He’s not sure how much times passes before Tormund reappears. He’s been lost, just staring at Daenerys. How vulnerable she looks, even more so than when he first dragged her on board his ship. She was so full of fire, full of life that he never really thought her capable of looking so small, so finite.

Next thing he knows they’re rolling Daenerys onto her side. Arya suggests he leave for this bit, but he kneels next to Dany’s head and takes her hand in his. Arya braces her shoulder, Tormund her legs while Mollander steadies the bolt is and Gendry cuts, using a circular saw he heated in his small forge. 

As Gendry starts to cut, Daenerys eyes fly open, mouth open in a silent scream, followed by a very much _not_ silent scream. Jon lets her squeeze his hand, mutters softly to her, trying to be a calm presence for her. Her screams turn to sobs and then sniffles before she’s out again. He keeps her hand in his as he wipes away her tears with his other. 

Thankfully the bolt was thin, so it didn’t take long but when they turn her over on to her back, there’s more blood pooling from her. They all frantically grab towels and press down on her, trying to stem the bleeding.

“Shit,” Mollander grumbles. “We might have to cauterize.”

Jon couldn’t stay here. It was craven, so craven he was ashamed, but he would not watch her die. _Could_ not. 

“Save her,” he says to Mollander, taking a step back. “Or die with her.” 

Any other day that might just be an empty threat, a flare of his temper. Today, though, it was a guarantee. 

Up on deck, tied to the taffrail was a near dead Euron. Daenerys had got him good. _That’s my girl._

“What are you going to do to him?” Arya asks, the only one to have followed him.

He doesn’t respond, he’s never been a fan of letting Arya see this side of him. Killing sirens was one thing, killing their own species was different.

“He doesn’t deserve to live. You don’t have to sugar-coat it with me.”

Sometimes he forgot his sister was well versed with violence as well. 

“Pyp,” he calls out. “Tell Davos it’s time.”

Euron blearily opens his eye, looking confused by his surroundings. His awareness slowly dawns on him. There are no more tricks, no more manipulations to be played but a madman is a madman.

“You…fucking…fools,” he laughs, blood trickling down from the corners of his mouth. “You are all lesser. So weak…on this little ship…trying to make bargains with the sea. I make no bargains. You might…rule the sea…boy. But I am the storm…the first and the last.” There’s a crazed look in his eyes as he coughs out his last deluded ramblings. _Let him be the storm, I’ve weathered them all, so far._

“Your life was that ship, Greyjoy. Your power all contained within it. I want you to watch as your life ends.” He spots Qyburn creeping up from below-deck and wherever he was hiding just as all their cannons fire at the _Silence_. The man doesn’t flee or panic, he just stands there, the ship exploding around him. 

Jon turns back to watch Euron’s face. He can smell the smoke, feel the heat carrying on the wind against as back as he watches Euron’s face as his pride and joy burns and sinks.

Euron opens his mouth to say something, face stony and deranged. Before he can get a word out, Jon shoves Longclaw through his thigh, the only sound he makes a high-pitched keening. 

Jon cuts his binding and props him up. “A captain is always meant to go down with his ship,” he says in Euron’s ear before tossing him overboard. 

There’s a silence on deck as they watch Euron’s body bob for a moment, blood surrounding the water. He’s still half-heartedly paddling but he won’t last long.

“You didn’t kill him,” Arya says simply, sounding a little confused.

“Let the Drowned God have him,” he replies. Jon doesn’t stay to watch; he turns his back on his enemy, fights his cowardice and goes back to Daenerys. 

~~~

She woke with a gasp. Her head was bleary. and it took a moment to recognize her surroundings. She was in their mess hall for some reason. 

Daenerys tried to sit up and couldn’t help the deep groan of pain that tore from her throat. While her rational mind tried to piece her memories together to make sense of everything, the irrational side of her wondered if Ramsay had got to her and flayed her in punishment for whatever slight Viserys was mad at her for at the moment.

“You’ll be safer lying down, little one,” Tormund’s voice said from behind her.

He walked into view, drying his hands on a towel. She could see Mollander laid out on a bench behind him, he was the one that was usually drunk and espousing off useless knowledge. 

“Why am I here?”

“We needed room to work, get that bolt out of you.” 

_Oh, that’s right._ She’d been shot. She’d saved Jon.

“Is everyone else alright?”

Tormund chuckled. “Aye, they’re fine. You’re the hero of the day.”

His words were so sincere she kind of wanted to fight him. Where was the glaring and general antagonism that she usually got from him?

“I get shot and you like me all of a sudden?”

“I’ve been telling myself you’re not a part of the crew so I can’t trust you but I never used to trust Captain Crow either and now I’m following him up a deadly mountain for a magical horn. You saved his life, that makes you one of us now.” 

“Shift’s over Tormund, my turn,” Arya said as she entered. Her eyebrows rose the barest fraction at seeing Daenerys awake.

Tormund nodded at Daenerys, as if they were allies, maybe even friends and left her and Arya alone, along with a now snoring Mollander. 

“How close was it?” She knew Arya wouldn’t lie.

“Too close. You got a bolt right near your ribs, lucky it didn’t hit anything fatal is what Mollander said.”

“He’s the one who saved me?”

“Well, we all chipped in but he used to study at the Citadel, closest thing we have to a maester.”

“Why did he leave?”

“He…the thing is-”

“It wasn’t voluntary, was it?” Daenerys asked dryly, already knowing the answer.

“Nope.”

They shared a small laugh at that. She was alive and wasn’t about to complain about the qualifications of the man who saved her.

“He’s a mess but he’s alright really,” Arya continued. “He’s not been to bed yet, he wanted to stay here just in case you needed help.”

“Remind me to thank him when he wakes up.”

“He liked being useful, I think. Been a while since he felt like that.”

_She’s very astute_, Daenerys thought. _Always watching. I wonder what she sees about me._

“Are you here to bestow your thanks upon me as well?”

“I’m here cause it’s my turn to watch you. You’re to be under constant supervision, orders of the captain,” she says, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Wouldn’t want to lose the only one on the ship who can speak Valyrian, right?” Daenerys tried to tease back, but the thought revealed itself for a reason. Had they come back for her because she was useful or because they had wanted to? Was that a question she even wanted answered?

Of course, Arya saw right through her. “When I saw Jon on deck the _Silence_ swinging his handcuff around like Gendry’s hammer, my first thought was relief he was still breathing. You can’t imagine how panicked we were. We had to run back to the forge, grab the boat, row our fucking arses off to the _Ghost_ and then sail our already tired arses off to catch up. To see my brother alive after that was all the motivation I needed to kill those creepy silent fuckers. _But_ my second thought was _‘where is Daenerys?’_ The man I know Jon to be wouldn’t leave you behind. And he wasn’t. He was only coming to make sure we weren’t getting ourselves killed and to get back-up.”

Daenerys tried to stop her heart from warming but couldn’t. It meant something, that he would come for her. That _they_ would. She wasn’t clear on what, but it did mean something. 

“Daenerys,” Arya says solemnly, putting a hand over hers. “You saved his life. That’s not a debt I’ll ever forget.”

“You don’t owe me-”

“It’s not about owing each other. I know whatever your relationship with your brother is complicated, seeing what he did to you when we first found you. _Actually_, I don’t think its complicated, I think he’s a cunt.” A shocked laugh left Daenerys’ mouth. “But my relationship with Jon isn’t. He’s the best man I know. My favourite person in the world aside from Gendry and we could have lost him. _You_ are the reason we didn’t. All I’m saying is…my memory isn’t short. So, whatever guilt it is that I see in your eyes,” Daenerys gulped. “Maybe its time to let it go for a while. You’ve earned it.”

_You won’t be saying that when you found out what I really am._

“And Euron?” She asked, finally remembering the man who put her here. The man who dared put his hands on her.

“Dead. Jon-”

“Doesn’t matter to me how he died, as long as he’s dead.”

Arya nodded. “I can get him if you like. Jon, I mean. He was here for a while, but he had to attend to his duties _eventually_,” she says with a smirk. 

Daenerys tries to nod casually, as if she doesn’t care either way. “Yes, okay.”

By the eyeroll Arya tosses her as she leaves the room, she’s pretty sure she failed. 

It felt nice, the camaraderie between them, but she couldn’t do what Arya asked and let go of her guilt. How could she when she was lying about who, _what_ she really was? It grew more tiresome the longer the lie went on. 

She longs to speak to Missandei or Grey Worm or Irri. To tell them all that’s happened, to get their advice on what to do. 

These people may be growing to like her and trust her, but they were wrong to, she could never accept the companionship when she knew it based on a lie. 

The idea of unburdening herself of it grew more and more tempting. If only she could be sure these people that she had grown to like wouldn’t kill her the moment the truth leaves her lips.

~~~

Daenerys was asleep when Jon came to see her. Arya had bounded up to him, he was about to scold her, knowing it was her turn to be watching Dany but the grin on her face told him all he needed to know.

It can’t have been more than a minute or two since Arya left her and she was already out again. Thought it was no wonder how exhausted she was given the amount of blood she lost. He wasn’t about to leave her asleep on the rough wooden table, not now that she’d been conscious and talking. They’d made her as comfortable as they could with the velvety pillows Davos had picked up as a gift for his wife Marya and Pyp’s blanket, he always bought the thickest he could find, said it was easier for him to catch a chill on account of how small and skinny he was. How Pyp had ever survived The Watch, Jon would never be sure.

He gently scooped her up and carried her to his cabin. One of the perks of being the captain was he got the softest bed.

He had hated it at first, he’d grown so used to sleeping rough while serving in The Watch. He used to feel as if it would swallow him up but eventually, he couldn’t resist its comforts. There were many nights where he got no sleep at all but tossing and turning was far better on a feathery bed than on a snow-packed, hard ground. 

He sat with her for a half hour, maybe an hour, kept telling himself he’d wait just five more minutes and then get back to work. He ended up waiting until she stirred, a small drowsy smile on her face when she noticed him on a stool by the bed.

She stretches her arms, wincing at the pull off her bandaged wound. He pulls the blanket back up over her torso. Mollander had warned them how important it was to keep her warm.

She looks at him then. Daenerys has a way of looking at him that can be felt as much as seen. They can’t go back to what they were before, the reluctant allies who acted as if they didn’t care much if the other lived or died so long as it wasn’t an inconvenience for them. Their actions spoke louder than any cruel words they could spit. 

They cared. It was dangerous but true. 

“I can’t believe you came back for me,” she says for the second time. It hurts him to hear it. Sure, they had their somewhat aggressive banter, but he never would have left her behind. He never even considered it. How used to being let down had she become that loyalty surprised her?

“Course I did,” he says, voice rough. 

She stretches a hand towards him, so he perches on the bed and takes it, strokes her knuckles comfortingly. 

The room felt charged but mellow at the same time, as if the world outside didn’t exist. It was just them, holding hands, being rocked gently by the calm waves. If there was ever a time to be vulnerable with each other, it was now.

“Did you really think I’d leave you behind?”

“Yes,” she says, without hesitation. “It’s not a judgement. You had your crew, your family to think about.”

“Dany,” he sighs. “If I really didn’t want you on my ship, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Dany?” Her eyebrows jump up her forehead. “No one but my brother has ever called me that and well, we’re not the closest,” she says with a bitter scoff.

“I’m sorry, I won’t-”

“No! No, I like it, it’s just…been a while since I’ve heard it said without any malice attached.”

He really, really wants to break her brother’s nose. “Dany it is then.”

Her lips quirk in the smallest smile. “You know, I thought I was just a means to an end, your Valyrian translator should you need it, nothing more.”

“Aye, well, I’m capable of being an arse if you haven’t noticed.”

She smiles, looking down at their hands. “I’m capable of the same.”

“Oh, that I _definitely_ noticed.”

She laughs then shudders. “Gods, don’t make me laugh, it hurts too much.” 

“Haven’t had the chance to thank you for the necklace, by the way. That’ll come in handy.”

“You are very welcome, Captain,” she near whispers, not nearly as much sarcasm in her voice as there usually is and a more genuine smile on her face than he’s ever seen. “So, what now?”

“Now, you rest up and recover while we sail for Asshai. Then we use the siren horn and finish this once and for all.”

She looks at him intently, studying him for a moment. “Do you really hate the sirens that much?”

“They kill our kind,” he says, stating the obvious.

“And you kill theirs.”

“That’s different. We do what we have to, to survive. They want us all dead.”

“How do you know?”

His eyebrows scrunched up. “How do I _know_?” 

“Yes, how do you know they aren’t thinking the same thing? That they have to…prove their dominance or risk being wiped out. How do you know that there isn’t a solution that doesn’t end with eradicating a species that’s been a part of our world as long as humans have?”

“I…I don’t,” he concedes. He liked that she was empathetic, thought it a wonderful trait. But it wasn’t realistic. “It’s not like we can meet up and sign a peace treaty like I would with other kingdoms.”

“Why can’t you?” She seems flustered by her own question. “I know he needs to be stopped, the Sea King. I just wonder if there can ever be peace between us.”

“Between us and sirens?”

“Yes,” she sighs wearily. 

He wonders over her question for a moment. _Why can’t he?_ The answer should be simple, because they’re monstrous creatures and killers and dangerous. But he doesn’t say any of that. He hasn’t considered that this could end in any other way than death. It’s only ever been a fleeting thought in his mind that to sirens, humans were the monstrous creatures and killers and dangerous. He’s never allowed himself to think over it too long, its always drowned out by grief before he can get a grasp on it. If he had the opportunity for peace, would he take it?

“Why are you questioning this?” Jon asks, not annoyed, just confused. “I thought you wanted to end a war; I thought your family legacy was of siren killing. Surely, you want retribution for all that your people have suffered as I do for my people, my family, Samwell’s family.”

“Samwell?”

“Tarly, my closest friend. His father and brother were killed not long ago.”

Her face freezes before him, but she shakes her head free of whatever confusion was there. They really shouldn’t be having this conversation now, she was still recovering and needed rest. “Were you close to his family?”

“No, not at all, though I’d met them in my duties as king. Dickon was Sam’s biggest ally growing up. His father was…cruel but he still his father and no one wants their family to die at the hands of sirens. Let alone the Royal Bane,” he can’t hide the disgust in his voice but maybe it would be good for her to hear it. Daenerys was kinder than she seemed, but it was possible that her culture’s habit of keeping the sirens for information had forged a false connection. It was better for her to realise that humans and sirens were too different to forge any alliances, no matter how badly she might want it.

He’d been gripping her hand too tight in his anger and goes back to stroking her knuckles lightly. “Sorry, it’s just a personal topic for me.

“It’s alright”, she replies but by the downcast look in her eyes it isn’t at all alright. “I understand why you hate them. I just think it might be more complicated than we all think. How much can we know about each other really? When there’s no conversation, only killing.”

“Maybe,” he says, not really giving it the thought he knows she wants him to. “But there’s nothing complicated about the Sea King and the Royal Bane. Their actions speak for themselves. The king might be the one running the show, but the bane is the one with the kill count. I wonder if she’ll feel it when the Sea King dies,” he ponders. He’s not expecting an answer, he’s just comfortable enough around Dany to think out loud.

“I wonder if she can feel anything at all,” she turns to him, eyes drained and glassy. “At least we won’t need to wonder for long. This will all be over soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Stormy seas have the crew taking refuge on an island; Missandei and Daenerys catch up
> 
> love reading all of your comments btw, keep em coming!
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter


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